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WEBSTER,  N.Y.  145*0 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  ^'M••/Notat  techniques  et  bibliographiquas 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checlced  below. 


D 


D 


D 


D 
D 


D 


0 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I     I   Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagte 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurte  et/ou  pellicula 


□   Cover  title  missing/ 
Le 


titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I   Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  gtegraphiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  Ink  (I.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (I.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I     I   Coloured  plates  and/or  Illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
ReliA  avec  d'autres  documents 


Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serrto  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  IntArieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
11  se  peut  que  certalnes  pages  blanches  ajouttes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparalssent  dans  le  texte, 
male,  lorsque  cela  ttait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  Att  filmAes. 


L'Insiitut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  4t4  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  d6tails 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  de  fiimage 
sont  indlqute  cl-dessous. 


I     I   Coloured  pages/ 


D 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagtes 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurtes  et/ou  peillculAes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxe( 
Pages  dAcolortes,  tachetAes  ou  piqutes 


p~|   Pages  damaged/ 

I — I   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

rri   Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 


□   Pages  detached/ 
Pages  dAtachtes 

0Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  in^gale  de  I'impresslon 

Includes  supplementary  materli 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplAmentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Mition  disponlble 


I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I   Includes  supplementary  material/ 

I  — I   Only  edition  available/ 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  ref limed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partleilement 
obscurcles  par  un  feuiliet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  *tA  filmtes  A  nouveau  de  fapon  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


The  cfl 
to  the 


The  in 
possib 
of  the 
filming 


Origini 
beginr 
the  lai 
sion,  c 
other ( 
first  p( 
sion,  a 
or  illui 


The  lai 
shall  c 
TINUE 
which( 

Maps, 
differs 
entlrel 
beginr 
right  a 
requin 
metho 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentairos  supplAmentaires: 


irrtgular  pagiiMtion  :   [1]  •  4, 13  •  14, 7  - 12. 5  •  6, 15  - 150  p. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  ImIow/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  rMuction  indiqu*  cl-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


/ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


a4X 


2SX 


32X 


>lair« 
M  details 
iquas  du 
nt  modifier 
xiger  une 
Jo  filmago 


d/ 


taire 


I  by  srrata 
mad  to 

nant 

una  paiura, 
ffaQon  A 


32X 

Tha  copy  filmad  hara  haa  baan  raproducad  thanica 
to  tha  ganaroaity  of: 

Nationai  Library  of  Canada 


Tlia  imagaa  appearing  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
poaaibia  conaidaring  tha  condition  and  iagibiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  Icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spacificatlona. 


Original  copiaa  in  printed  paper  covera  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  laat  page  with  a  printed  or  iiiuatratad  imprea- 
aion,  or  the  bacic  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  ara  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  iiiuatratad  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  — ^-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Mapa,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


1  2  3 


L'exemplaire  film*  f ut  reproduit  grAce  it  la 
gAnirositA  de: 

BibH9th4que  nationale  du  Canada 


Las  images  auivantas  ont  6t6  reproduites  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattetA  de  rexemplaira  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmaga. 

Lea  axemplalres  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  filmte  en  commen^ant 
par  la  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
darnlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impresslon  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  las  autras  axemplalres 
originaux  aont  filmAs  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impresslon  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  das  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
darnlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
caa:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
filmte  A  des  taux  de  reduction  dIffArents. 
Loraque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  11  est  film*  A  partir 
de  Tangle  aupAriaur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bes,  en  prenant  la  nombre 
d'imagas  nAcessaira.  Las  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthoda. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

■•6i.v. 


jsTi^  IB  IE  A^  n "vrii 


OF   THE 

CAPTIVITY  OF  MRS.  JOHNSON, 

■  -       .  "  .  ^  ■  ''  '  .,  I,.''    '^^ 

CONTAINING 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HER  SUFFERINGS  DURING 
FOUR  YEARS  WITH  THE 

INDIANS   AND   FRENCH. 

TOGETHER  WITH 

AN    APPENDIX, 

CONTAINING  THE  SERMONS  PREACHED  AT  HER  VU^SRAL, 

AND  THAT  OF  HER  MOTHER,  WITH  SUNDRY 

OTHER  INTERESTING  ARTICLES. 


jf  outt^    3Ef  ti  C  t  ( 0 n . 


LOWELL: 

PUBLISHED  BY  DANIEL  BIXBY, 

No.  11  Merrimac  Street. 

MDCCCXXXIV. 


JOHN     EMMES     DILL,     PRINTER, 
tORNHILL,   BOSTON. 


% 


51^;'- 


m 


2sr®iE®i2)i3'os^ii@sr( 


NOTICES  OF  THE  WILLARD  FAMILY. 

To  trace  the  progress  of  families,  from  their 
origin  to  the  present  day,  when  perhaps  they  arc 
spread  over  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  and  no 
memorandums  are  found,  except  in  the  uncertain 
pages  of  memory,  is  a  task  which  can  be  but  fee- 
bly performed.  In  noticing  the  name  of  Wiilard, 
which  was  my  family  name,  I  cannot  pretend  to 
accuracy  ;  but  the  information  which  I  have  col- 
lected will  perhaps  be  of  some  service  to  others 
who  possess  a  greater  stock.  And,  if  the  various 
branches  of  families  would  contribute  their  mites, 
it  would  be  an  easy  way  of  remedying  the  defi- 
ciency which  at  present  exists  in  American  gene- 
alogy. 

The  first  person  by  the  name  of  Wiilard,  who 
settled  in  this  country,  was  Major  Wiilard,  whose 
name  is  recorded  in  the  History  of  New  England 
Wars.  In  the  year  1675,  in  the  time  of  Philip's 
war — a  notorious  Indian,  who  lived  within  the 
present  limits  of  the  state  of  Rhode  Island — Ma- 
jor Wiilard,  who  then  lived  in  the  town  of  Lan- 
caster, in  Massachusetts,  commanded  a  troop  of 
horse;  and,  among  his  vigorous  services,  he  re- 
lieved the  town  of  Brookfield  from  the  Nipnet 
Indians,  who  had  burnt  every  house  but  one,  and 
had  almost  reduced  that  to  capitulation.     When 


Lancaster  was  destroyed  by  the  Indians,  Major 
Willard  removed  to  Salem,  where  he  spent  the 
rest  of  his  days.  He  had  two  sons,  one  of  whom 
was  a  settled  minister  in  the  town  of  Groton,  from 
which  place  he  was  driven  by  the  Indians,  and 
was  afterwards  installed  in  Boston.  His  other 
son,  Simon,  established  himself  on  Still  River — 
since  taken  from  Lancaster  and  incorporated  into 
the  town  of  Harvard.  He  had  nine  sons,  Simon, 
Henry,  Hezekiah,  John,  Joseph,  Josiah,  Samuel, 
Jonathan,  and  James.  Josiah  removed  to  Win- 
chester, in  New  Hampshire,  and  afterwards  com- 
manded Fort  Dummer.  The  rest  inherited  the 
substance  of  their  father,  and  lived  to  very  advan- 
ced ages  in  the  vicinity  of  their  birth.  They  all 
left  numerous  families,  who  spread  over  the  Unit- 
ed States.  His  eldest  son,  Simon,  was  my  grand- 
father. He  had  two  sons,  Aaron  and  Moses. 
Aaron  lived  in  Lancaster,  and  Moses,  my  father, 
removed  to  Lunenburg.  I  ought  to  remark,  that 
my  grandmother  Willard,  after  the  death  of  her 
husband,  married  a  person  by  the  name  of  Farns- 
worth,  by  whom  she  had  three  sons,  who  were  the 
first  settlers  of  Charlestown,  No.  4.  One  of  them 
was  killed  by  the  Indians. 

My  father  had  twelve  children.  He  removed  to 
Charlestown,  No.  4,  in  1742,  ^nd  soon  had  the 
pleasure  to  find  his  children  settled  around  him^ 
He  was  killed  by  the  Indians,  in  1756.  My  nao- 
ther  died  in  May,  1797,*  and  had  lived  to  see 


*  At  the,  age  of  eighty-four,  she  busied  herself  in  making  a 
coverlid,  which  contains  something  of  the  remarkable.  She  did 
not  quite  complete  it.  It  now  contains  upwards  of  five  thousand 
pieces. 


13 


Breton  war,  tlie  fort  was  defended  by  Capt.  Ste- 
vens. Soldiers  passed  and  repassed  to  Canada, 
but  the  inhabitants  took  sanctuary  in  the  fort,  and 
made  but  little  progress  in  cultivation.  During 
the  Indian  wars,  which  lasted  till  the  year  17(50, 
Charlestown  was  noted  more  for  its  feats  of  war, 
than  a  place  of  rapid  improvement.  Settlers 
thought  it  more  prudent  to  remain  with  their 
friends  in  safety,  than  risk  their  scalps  with  sav- 
age power.  Since  that  period,  it  has  become  a 
flourishing  village,  and  contains  all  that  a  mral 
situation  affords  of  the  useful  and  pleasant.  Nu- 
merous farms  and  stately  buildings  now  flourish 
where  the  savage  roamed  the  forest.  The  pros- 
perity of  the  town  was  greatly  promoted  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Bulkely  Olcott,  who  was  a  settled  min- 
ister there  about  32  years.  In  the  ^character  of 
this  good  man  was  combined  the  agreeable  com- 
panion, the  industrious  citizen,  and  unaflected 
Christian.  During  the  whole  of  his  ministry,  his 
solicitude  for  the  happiness  of  his  parishoners  was 
as  conspicuous  in  the  benefits  they  received  from 
his  assistance,  as  in  their  sincere  attachment  to 
his  person.  As  a  divine,  he  was  pathetic,  devout, 
and  instructive,  and  may  with  propriety  be  said 
to  have 

Shown  the  path  to  Heaven,  and  led  the  way. 

He  was  highly  respected  through  life.     In  June, 
1793,  he  died,  much  lamented. 


14 


REMOVAL  TO  CHARLESTOWN. 

In  May,  174^,  we  received  information  of  the 
cessation  of  arms  between  Great  Britain  and 
France.  I  had  then  been  married  about  two 
years,  and  Mr.  Johnson's  enterprising  spirit  was 
zealous  to  remove  to  Charlestown.  In  June  we 
undertook  the  hazardous  and  fatiguing  journey  ; 
we  arrived  safe  at  the  fort,  and  found  five  families, 
who  ]}ad  ventured  so  far  into  the  woods  during 
hostilities.  But  the  gloomy  forest,  and  warlike 
appearance  of  the  place,  soon  made  me  homesick. 
Two  or  three  days  after  my  arrival,  orders  came 
from  Massachusetts  to  withdraw  the  troops.  Go- 
vernment placed  confidence  in  the  proffered  peace 
of  Frenchmen,  and  withdrew  even  the  appearance 
of  hostility.  But  French  treachery  and  savage 
malice  will  ever  keep  pace  with  each  other. 
Without  even  the  suspicion  of  danger,  the  inhab-' 
itants  went  about  their  business  of  husbandry. 
The  day  the  soldiers  left  the  fort,  Ensign  Obadiah 
Sartwell  went  to  harrow  some  corn,  and  took 
Enos  Stevens,  the  fourth  son  of  Phinehas  Stevens, 
Esq.,  to  ride  the  horse.  My  father  and  two  bro- 
thers were  at  work  in  the  meadow.  Early  in  the 
afternoon,  the  Indians  appeared,  and  shot  Ensign 
Sartwell  and  the  horse,  and  took  young  Stevens 
prisoner.  In  addition  to  this,  my  father  and  bro- 
thers were  in  the  meadow,  and  we  supposed  they 
must  be  destroyed.  My  husband  was  gone  to 
Northfield.  In  the  fort  were  seven  women  and 
four  men.  The*anxiety  and  grief  we  experienced 
was  the  highest  imaginable.     Th6  next  night  we 


At  the  age  of  fourteen,  in  1744, 1  made  a  visit 
from  Leominster  to  Charlestown,  to  visit  my  pa- 

-  rents.  Througli  a  long  wilderness,  from  Lunen- 
burg to  Lower  Ashuelot,  now  Swanzey,  we  tra- 
velled two  days  ;  a  solitary  house  was  all  the 
mark  of  cultivation  that  occurred  on  the  journey. 
Guided  by  marked  trees,  we  travelled  cautiously 
through  the  gloomy  forest,  where  now  the  well- 
tilled  farms  occupy  eacli  rod  of  ground.  From 
Ashuelot  to  Charlestown,  the  passage  was  oppos- 
ed, now  by  '  the  Hill  of  Difficulty,'  and  now  by 
the  Slough  Despond.  A  few  solitary  inhabitants, 
who  appeared  the  representatives  of  wretched- 
ness, were  scattered  on  the  way. 

When  I  approached  the  town  of  Charlestown, 
the  first  object  that  met  my  eyes  was  a  party  of 
Indians,  holding  a  war-dance.  A  cask  of  rum, 
which  the  inhabitants  had  suffered  them  to  par- 
take ofj  had  raised  their  spirits  to  all  the  horrid 
yelii^.and  feats  of  distortion  which  characterize 
the  nation.  I  was  chilled  at  the  sight,  and  passed 
tremblingly  by.  At  this  time,  Charlestown  con- 
tained nine  or  ten  families,  who  lived  in  huts  not 

^  far  distant  from  each  other.  The  Indians  were 
numerous,  and  sssociated  in  a  friendly  manner 
with  the  whites.  It  was  the  most  northerly  set- 
tlement on  Connecticut  River,  and  the  adjiilcent 
country  was  terribly  wild.  A  saw-mill  wias  erect- 
ed, and  the  first  boards  were  sawed  while  I  was 
there.  The  inhabitants  commemorated  the  event 
with  a  dance,  which  took  place  on  new  boards. 
In  those  days  there  was  such  a  mixture  on  the 
frontiers,  of  savages  and  settlers,  without  esta- 
bhshed  laws  to  govern  them,  that  the  state  of  so- 


v***' 


8 


ciety  cannot  easily  be  described  ;  aud  tbe  impend- 
ing dangers  of  war,  where  it  was  known  that  the 
savages  would  join  the  enemies  of  our  country, 
retarded  the  progress  of  refinement  and  cultiva- 
tion. The  inhabitants  of  Charlestown  began  to 
erect  a  fort,  and  took  some  steps  towards  clearing 
their  farms ;  but  war  soon  checked  their  industry. 


CHARLESTOWN. 

In  the  year  1740,  the  first  settlement  was  made 
in  the  town  of  Charlestown,  then  known  by  the 
Dame  of  No.  4,  by  three  families,  who  emigrated 
from  Lunenburg,  by  the  name  of  Farnsworth. 
That  part  of  New  Hampshire  west  of  Merrimac 
River  was  then  a  trackless  wilderness.  Within  a 
few  years  past,  instances  have  been  known  ofi(i6w 
townships,  totally  uninhabited,  becoming  tbfck- 
settled  villages  in  the  course  of  six  or  seven  years. 
But  in  those  days,  when  government  was  weak — 
when  savages  were  on  our  borders,  and  French- 
men in  Canada — population  extended  with  timo- 
rous and  tardy  paces;  in  the  course  of  twelve 
years,  the  famili*is  increased  only  to  twenty-two 
or  three.  The  human  race  will  not  flourish  unless 
fostered  by  the  warm  sunshine  of  peace. 

During  the  first  twenty  years  of  its  existence  as 
a  settled  place,  until  the  peace  between  Great 
Britain  and  France,  it  suffered  all  the  consterna- 
tion and  ravages  of  war ;  not  that  warfare  which 
civilized  nations  wage  with  each  other,  but  the 
cruel  carnage  of  savages  and  Frenchmen.    Some- 


6 


times  engaged  in  the  duties  of  the  camp,  at  others 
sequestering  themselves  from  surrounding  ene- 
mies, they  hecame  familiar  ivith  danger,  but  not 
with  industrious  husbandry. 

In  the  year  1744,  the  inhabitants  began  to  erect 
a  fort  for  their  safety.  When  the  Cape  Breton 
war  commenced,  the  Indians  assumed  the  hatchet, 
and  began  their  depredations  on  Charlestown  on 
the  19th  day  of  April,  A.D.,  1746,  by  burning  the 
mills,  and  taking  Capt.  John  Spafford,  Isaac  Par- 
ker, and  Stephen  Farnsworth,  prisoners.  On 
the  second  day  of  May  following,  Seth  Putnam 
was  killedw  Two  days  after,  Capt.  Payne  arrived 
with  a  troop  of  horse  from  Massachusetts,  to  de- 
fend the  place.  About  twenty  of  his  men  had  the 
curiosity  to  view  the  place  where  Putnam  was 
killed,  and  were  ambushed  by  the  Indians.  Capt. 
Stevens,  who  commanded  a  few  men,  rushed  out 
of  the  fort  to  their  relief;  a  sharp  combat  ensued, 
in  which  the  Indians  were  routed.  Thev  left  some 
guns  and  blankets  on  the  field  of  action,  but  they 
carried  their  dead  off  with  them,  which  is  a  policy 
they  never  omit.  Ensign  Obadiah  Sartwell  was 
captured,  and  Samuel  Farnsworth,  Elijah  Allen, 
Peter  Perrin,  Aaron  Lyon,  aud  Joseph  Massey, 
fell  victims  to  Indian  vengeance. 

On  the  19th  of  June,  a  severe  engagement  took 
place.  Capt.  Brown,  from  Stow,  in  Massachu- 
setts, had  previously  arrived  with  some  troops.  A 
party  of  his  joined  a  number  of  Capt.  Stevens's 
soldiers,  to  go  into  the  meadow  after  their  horses. 
The  dogs  discovered  an  ambush,  which  put  them 
into  a  posture  for  action,  and  gave  them  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  first  fire.     This  disconcerted  the 


« 


.,.^*>.-*~»-,,^»fi,.*«^^ 


10 


i/1 

■Cfr 


savages,  who,  being  on  higher  ground,  overshot, 
and  did  but  little  damage  to  the  English.  The 
enemy  were  routed,  and  even  seen  to  drag  several 
dead  bodies  after  them.  They  left  behind  them 
guns,  spears,  and  blankets,  which  sold  at  40/.,  old 
tenor.  During  the  time  Capt.  Josiah  Brown  as- 
sisted in  defending  the  fort,  Jedediah  Winchel 
was  killed,  and  Samuel  Stanhope,  Coronet  Baker, 
and  David  Parker,  were  wounded.  During  this 
summer,  the  fort  was  entirely  blockaded,  and  all 
were  obliged  to  take  refuge  within  the  piquets. 
On  the  3d  day  of  August,  one  Philhps  was  killed, 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  fort,  as  he  accidentally 
stepped  out ;  at  night,  a  soldier  crept  to  him  with 
a  rope,  and  he  was  drawn  into  the  fort  and  inter- 
red. In  the  summer  of  the  year  1746,  Capt. 
Ephraim  Brown,  from  Sudbury,  arrived  with  a 
troop  of  horse,  to  relieve  Capt.  Josiah  Brown. 
The  Sudbury  troop  tarried  about  a  month,  and 
were  relieved  by  a  company  commanded  by  Capt. 
Winchester,  who  defended  the  place  till  autumn, 
when  the  inhabitants,  fatigued  with  watching,  and 
weary  of  the  dangers  of  the  forest,  deserted  the 
place  entirely  for  about  six  months.  In  the  month 
of  August,  previous  to  the  evacuation,  the  Indians, 
assisted  by  their  brethren  the  French,  were  very 
troublesome  and  mischievous ;  they  destroyed  all 
the  horses,  hogs,  and  cattle.  An  attack  was  made 
on  the  fort,  which  lasted  two  days.  My  father  at 
this  time  lost  ten  cattle ;  but  the  people  were  se- 
cured behind  their  wooden  walls,  and  received  but 
little  damage. 

In  this  recess  of  the  settlement  -of  No.  4,  the 
Indians  and  French  were  ice-locked  in  Canada, 


'■i."-;> 


[rshoty 
The 
jveral 
them 
}!.,  old 
n  as- 
linchel 
laker, 
ig  this 
ind  all 
qiiets. 
killed, 
Jntally 
n  with 
inter- 
Capt. 
with  a 
Jrown. 
h,  and 
r  Capt. 
itumn, 
\g,  aui 
ed  the 
month 
idians, 
e  very 
^ed  all 
I  made 
ther  at 
jre  se- 
ed but 

4,  the 

mada, 


11 


and  the  frontiers  suffered  only  in  apprehension. 
In  March,  1747,  Capt.  Phinehas  Stevens,  who 
commanded  a  ranging  party  of  about  30  men, 
marched  to  No.  4,  and  took  possession  of  the  fort. 
He  found  it  uninjured  by  the  enemy,  and  an  old 
spaniel  and  a  cat,  who  had  been  domesticated  be- 
fore the  evacuation,  had  guarded  it  safely  through 
the  winter,  and  gave  the  troops  a  hearty  welcome 
to  their  tenement. 

Capt.  Stevens  was  of  eminent  service  to  the  in- 
fant settlement.  In  1748,  he  moved  his  family  to 
the  place,  and  encouraged  the  settlers  by  his  for- 
titude and  industry.  In  the  early  part  of  his  life, 
when  Rutland  suffered  by  savage  vengeance,  when 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Willard  was  murdered,  he  was  taken 
prisoner,  and  carried  to  St.  Francis.  This  inform- 
ed him  of  the  Indian  customs,  and  familiarized 
him  with  their  mode  of  warfare.  He  was  an  ac- 
tive, penetrating  soldier,  and  a  respectable,  worthy 
citizen. 

In  a  few  days  after  the  fort  was  taken  posses- 
sion of  by  Capt.  Stevens's  troops,  a  party  of  500 
French  and  Indians^  commanded  by  Mons.  De- 
belcie,  sallied  from  their  den  in  Canada,  and  made 
a  furious  attack  on  the  fort.  The  battle  lasted  five 
days,  and  every  stratagem,  which  French  policy 
or  Indian  malice  could  invent,  was  practised  to 
reduce  the  garison.  Sometimes  they  made  an 
onset  by  a  discharge  of  musquetry  ;  at  others, 
they  discharged  fire-arrows,  which  communicated 
fire  to  several  parts  of  the  fort.  But  these  were 
insufficient  to  daunt  the  courage  of  the  little  band 
that  were  assailed.  Their  next  step  was  to  fill  a 
cart  with  combustibles,  and  roll  it  against  the. 


walls,  to  communicate  fire  ;  but  the  English  kept 
up  such  a  brisk,  incessant  fire,  that  they  were  de- 
feated in  the  project.  At  length  the  monsieurs, 
tired  with  fighting,  beat  a  parley;  two  Indians, 
fi^rmerly  acquainted  with  Capt.  Stevens,  came  as 
negociators,  and  wished  to  exchange  some  furs 
for  corn  ;  this  Capt.  Stevens  refused,  but  offered  a 
bushel  of  corn  for  each  hostage  they  would  leave, 
to  be  exchanged  at  some  future  day.  These  terms 
were  not  complied  with  ;  and  on  the  fifth  day  the 
enemy  retreated,  at  which  time  the  soldiers  at  the 
garrison  honored  them  with  as  brisk  a  discharge 
as  they  could  afford,  to  let  them  know  they  were 
neither  disheartened,  nor  exhausted  in  ammuni- 
tion. The  garrison  had  none  killed  ;  and  only 
one,  by  the  name  of  Brown,  was  wounded.  •• 

Perhaps  no  place  was  ever  defended  with  greater 
bravery  than  this  fort,  during  this  action  :  30  or 
40  men,  when  attacked  by  500,  must  have  an  un- 
common degree  of  fortitude  and  vigilance,  to  de- 
fend themselves  during  five  days.  But  Capt.  Ste- 
vens was  equal  to  the  task,  and  will  be  applauded 
by  posterity.  After  the  battle,  he  sent  an  express 
to  Boston  with  the  tidings.  Gov.  Charles  Knowles 
happened  to  be  then  at  Boston,  and  rewarded 
Capt.  Stevens  with  a  handsome  sword — in  grati- 
tude for  which,  the  place  was  afterwards  called 
Charlestown.  7-! 

In  November,  1747,  a  body  of  the  troops  set 
out  from  the  fort,  to  return  to  Massachusetts. 
They  had  not  proceeded  far,  before  the  Indians 
fired  on  them.  Isaac  Goodale  and  Nathaniel 
Gould  were  killed,  and  one  Anderson  taken  pris- 
oner.   From  this  period  until  the  end  of  the  Cape 


6 


twelve  children,  ninety-two  grandchildren,  one 
hundred  and  twenty-three  great  grandchildren^ 
and  four  great,  great  grandchildren.  The  whole 
that  survive  are  now  settled  on  Connecticut  River* 


NOTICES  OF  MR.  JAMES  JOHNSON. 

In  the  year  1730,  my  great  uncle,  Colonel  Jo- 
siah  Willard,  while  at  Boston,  was  invited  to  take 
a  walk  on  the  Long  Wharf,  to  view  some  trans- 
ports who  had  just  landed  from  Ireland.  A  num- 
ber of  gentlemen  present  were  viewing  the  exer- 
cise of  some  lads,  who  were  placed  on  shore  to 
exhibit  their  activity  to  those  who  wished  to  pur- 
chase. My  uncle  spied  a  boy  of  some  vivacity,  of 
about  ten  years  of  age,  and  who  was  the  only  one 
in  the  crew  who  spoke  English.  He  bargained 
for  him.  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn  the 
price ;  but,  as  he  was  afterwards  my  husband,  I 
am  willing  to  suppose  it  a  considerable  sum.  He 
questioned  the  boy  about  his  parentage  and  de- 
scent. All  the  information  he  could  get,  was,  that 
young  James,  a  considerable  time  previous,  went 
to  sea  with  his  uncle,  who  commanded  a  ship,  and 
had  the  appearance  of  a  man  of  property — ^that 
this  uncle  was  taken  sick  at  sea,  and  died.  Im- 
mediately after  his  death,  they  came  in  sight  of 
this  ship  of  Irish  transports,  and  he  was  put  on 
board.  His  being  the  only  one  of  the  crew  who 
spoke  English,  and  other  circumstances,  have  led 
his  friends  to  conclude,  that  this  removal  on  board 
the  Irish  ship  was  done  to  facilitate  the  sequestra- 
1 1 


6 


tioji  of  his  uncle's  property.  He  lived  with  CoL 
Willard  until  he  was  twenty  years  old,  and  then 
bought  the  other  year  of  his  time.  In  1748,  Gov. 
Shirley  gave  him  a  lieutenant's  commission  under 
Edward  Hartwell,  Esq. 


SITUATION  OF  THE  COUNTRY  IN  1744. 

It  is  an  old  maxim,  that,  after  a  man  is  in  pos- 
session of  a  small  independent  property,  it  is  easy 
for  him  to  acquire  a  great  fortune.  Just  so  with 
countries  ;  possess  them  of  a  few  inhabitants,  and 
let  those  be  unmolested  by  Indians  and  enemies, 
the  land  will  soon  swarm  with  inhabitants.  But 
when  a  feeble  band  only  are  gathered  together, 
and  obliged  to  contend  with  pestilence,  famine, 
and  the  sword,  their  melancholy  numbers  will 
decrease  and  waste  away.  The  situation  of  our 
ancestors  has  often  been  described,  in  language 
that  did  honor  to  the  hearts  that  conceived  it. 
The  boisterous  ocean,  with  unknown  shores,  hem- 
med them  in  on  one  side,  and  a  forest,  swarming 
with  savages,  yelling  for  their  blood,  threatened 
on  the  other.  But  the  same  undaunted  spirit, 
which  has  defended  them  in  so  many  perils, 
buoyed  them  above  despair,  in  their  early  strug- 
gles for  safety  and  liberty.  I  shall  be  pardoned 
the  digression,  when  I  observe,  that  I  have,  in  all 
my  travels,  felt  a  degree  of  pride  in  recollecting 
that  I  belonged  to  a  country  whose  valor  was  dis- 
tinguished, and  whose  spirit  had  never  been  de» 
based  by  servile  submission. 


IS 


despatched  a  post  to  Boston,  to  carry  the  news  of 
our  disaster ;  but  my  father  and  brothers  did  not 
return.  The  next  day  but  one,  my  husband  and 
five  or  six  others  arrived  from  Northfield.  We 
kept  close  in  the  garrison,  suffering  every  appre- 
hension, for  ten  or  twelve  days,  when  the  sentry 
from  the  box  cried  out  that  troops  were  coming. 
Joyful  at  the  relief,  we  all  mounted  on  the  top  of 
the  fort,  and  among  the  rest  discovered  my  father. 
He,  on  hearing  the  guns,  supposed  the  fort  was 
destroyed,  left  his  team  in  the  meadow,  and  made 
the  best  of  his  way  to  Northfield  with  my  two  bro- 
thers. The  soldiers  were  about  thirty  in  number, 
and  headed  by  Major  Josiah  Willard,  of  Fort 
Dummer.  Enos  Stevens  was  carried  to  Montreal, 
but  the  French  commander  sent  him  back  direct- 
ly, by  the  way  of  Albany.  This  was  the  last  dam- 
age done  the  frontiers  during  the  Cape  Breton 
war. 


CURSORY  NOTICES. 

A  DETAIL  of  the  miseries  of  a  'frontier  man' 
must  excite  the  pity  of  every  child  of  humanity. 
The  gloominess  of  the  rude  forest,  the  distance 
from  friends  and  competent  defence,  and  the  daily 
inroads  and  nocturnal  yells  of  hostile  Indians, 
awaken  those  keen  apprehensions  and  anxieties 
which  conception  can  only  picture.  If  the  peace- 
ful employment  of  husbandry  is  pursued,  the  load- 
ed musket  must  stand  by  his  side ;  if  he  visit  a 
neighbor,  or  resorts  on  Sundays  to  the  sacred 
house  of  prayer,  the  weapons  of  war  must  bear 


16 


him  company ;  at  home,  the  distresses  of  a  wifb, 
and  the  tears  of  hsping  children,  often  unman  the 
soul  that  real  danger  assailed  in  vain.  Those  who 
can  recollect  the  war  that  existed  between  France 
and  England,  fifty  years  ago,  may  figure  to  them- 
selves the  unhappy  situation  of  the  inhabitants  on 
the  frontiers  of  New  Hampshire.  The  malice  of 
the  French  in  Canada,  and  the  exasperated  savages 
that  dwelt  in  their  vicinity,  rendered  the  tedious 
days  and  frightful  nights  a  season  of  unequalled- 
calamities.  The  daily  reports  of  captured  fami- 
lies and  slaughtered  friends  mingled  'grief  with 
fear.  Had  there  been  an  organized  government, 
to  stretch  forth  its  protecting  arm  in  any  case  of 
danger,  the  misery  might  have  been  in  a  degree 
alleviated.  But  the  infancy  of  our  country  did 
not  admit  of  this  blessing.  While  Gov.  Shirley, 
of  Massachusetts,  was  petitioning  to  England  for 
a  fleet  and  army,  Benning  Wentworth,  the  gover- 
nor of  New  Hampshire,  implicitly  obeying  the 
advice  of  his  friend  Shirley,  remained  inactively 
secure  at  his  seat  at  Portsmouth.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  the  year  1745,  the  expedition  to 
Louisburg  was  projected,  the  success  of  which 
originated  from  the  merest  accident,  rather  than 
from  inilitary  valor  or  generalship :  this  drained 
New  Hampshire  of  most  of  its  effective  men. 
From  this  period  till  the  peace,  which  took  place 
in  the  year  1749,  the  savages  committed  frequent 
depredations  on  the  defenceless  inhabitants  ;  and 
the  ease  with  which  they  gained  their  prey  en- 
couraged their  boldness,  and,  by  scattering  in 
small  parties,  they  were  able  to  infest  the  whole 
frontier^  of  New  Hampshire,  from  Fort  Dummer, 


it 


on  Connecticut  River,  to  the  lowest  settlement  on 
Merrimac.  During  this  war,  which  is  known  hy 
the  name  of  the  Cape  Breton  war,  the  town  of  No* 
4  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  inhabited ;  some  ad- 
venturers had  made  a  beginning,  but  few  were 
considered  as  belonging  to  the  town.  Capt.  Ste- 
vens, whose  valor  is  recorded  as  an  instance  of 
consummate  generalship,  part  of  the  time  kept 
the  fort,  which  afforded  a  shelter  to  the  enterpris- 
ing settlers,  in  times  of  imminent  danger.  But 
even  his  vigilance  did  not  save  the  town  from  nu- 
merous scenes  of  carnage.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  peace,  in  1749,  the  enterprising  spirit 
of  New  England  rose  superior  to  the  dangers  of 
the  forest,  and  they  began  to  venture  innovation. 
The  Indians,  still  thirsty  for  plunder  and  rapine, 
and  regardless  of  the  peai'.e  which  their  masters, 
the  French,  had  concluded,  kept  up  a  flying  war- 
fare, and  committed  several  outrages  upon  life 
and  property ;  this  kept  the  increasing  inhabitants 
in  a  state  of  alarm  for  three  or  four  years ;  most 
of  the  time  they  performed  their  daily  work  with- 
out molestation,  but  retreated  to  the  fort  on  each 
returning  night. 

Our  country  has  so  long  been  exposed  to  Indian 
wars,  that  recitals  of  exploits  and  sufferings,  of 
escapes  and  deliverances,  have  become  both  nu- 
merous and  trite.  The  air  of  novelty  will  not  be 
attempted  in  the  following  pages;  simple  facts, 
unadorned,  is  what  the  reader  must  expect ;  pity 
for  my  sufferings,  and  admiration  at  my  safe  re- 
turn, is  all  that  my  history  can  excite.  The  aged 
man,  while  perusing,  will  probably  turn  his  atten- 
tion to  the  period  when  the  facts  took  place  ;  his 


18 


memory  will  be  refreshed  with  the  sad  tidings  of 
his  country's  sufferings,  which  gave  a  daily  wound 
to  his  feelings,  between  the  years  1740  and  1760. 
By  contrasting  those  days  with  the  present,  he 
may  rejoice  that  he  witnesses  those  times  which 
many  have  '  waited  for,  but  died  without  a  sight.' 
Those  in  early  life,  while  they  commisserate  the 
sufferings  which  their  parents  and  ancestors  en- 
dured, may  felicitate  themselves,  that  their  lines 
fell  in  a  land  of  peace,  where  neither  savages  nor 
neighboring  wars  molest  their  happiness* 


SJ^IBIBi^Wn'^Ii- 


CHAPTER  I. 

Situation  until  August  31,  1754. 

Some  of  the  soldiers  who  arrived  with  Major 
Willard,  with  the  inhabitants  who  bore  arms, 
were  commanded  by  Capt.  Stevens  the  rest  of  the 
year  1749,  and  part  of  the  following  spring  ;  after 
which,  the  inhabitants  resided  pretty  much  in  the 
fort,  until  the  spring  or  fall  of  the  year  1752. 
They  cultivated  their  lands  in  some  degree,  but 
they  put  but  little  confidence  in  the  savages. 

The  continuation  of  peace  began  by  degrees  to 
appease  the  resentment  of  the  Indians,  and  they 
appeared  to  discover  a  wish  for  friendly  inter- 
course. The  inhabitants  in  No.  4  and  its  vicinity 
relaxed  their  watchfulness,  and  ventured  more 
boldly  into  the  fields.  Every  appearance  of  hos- 
tility at  length  vanished :  the  Indians  expresssed 
a  wish  to  traffic,  the  inhabitants  laid  by  their  fears, 
and  thought  no  more  of  tomahawks  nor  scalping 
knives.  Mr.  Johnson  now  thought  himself  justi- 
fied in  removing  to  his  farm,  an  bundred  rods 
distant  from  the  fort,  which  wag  tbili  the  upper- 
most settlement  on  Connecticut  River;  he  pur- 
sued his  occupation  of  trade,  and  the  Indians 
made  frequent  visits,  to  traffic  their  furs  for  his 
merchandize.    He  frequently  credited  them  for 


so 


blankets  and  other  necessaries,  and  in  most  itt^ 
stances  they  were  punctual  in  payment.  During 
the  year  1753,  all  was  harmony  and  safety.  Set- 
tlements increased  with  tolerable  rapidity,  and 
the  new  country  began  to  assume  the  appearance 
of  cultivation. 

The  commencement  of  the  year  1754  began  to 
threaten  another  rupture  between  the  French  and 
English  ;  and,  as  the  dividing  line  between  Canada 
and  the  English  colonies  was  the  object  of  con- 
tention, it  was  readily  seen,  that  the  frontier 
towns  would  be  in  imminent  danger.  But,  as 
immediate  war  was  not  expected,  Mr.  Johnson 
thought  that  he  might  risk  the  safety  of  his  family, 
while  he  made  a  tour  to  Connecticut,  for  trade. 
He  sat  out  the  last  of  May,  and  his  absence  of 
three  months  was  a  tedious  season  to  me.  Soon 
after  his  departure,  every  body  was  *  tremblingly 
alive'  with  fear.  The  Indians  were  reported  tO' 
be  on  their  march  for  our  destruction,  and  our 
distance  from  sources  of  information  gave  full 
latitude  for  exaggeration  of  news,  before  it  reach- 
ed our  ears.  The  fears  of  the  night  were  horri- 
ble beyond  description,  and  even  the  light  of  day 
was  far  from  dispelling  painful  anxiety.  While 
looking  from  the  windows  of  my  log-house,  and 
seeing  my  neighbors  tread  cautiously  by  each 
hedge  and  hillock,  lest  some  secreted  savage 
might  start  forth  to  take  their  scalp,  my  fears 
would  baffle  description.  Alarms  grew  louder  and 
louder,  till  our  apprehensions  were  too  strongly 
confirmed,  by  the  news  of  tlie  capture  of  Mr.  Ma- 
loon's  family,  on  Merrimac  River  ;  this  reached  us 
about  the  20th  of  August.     Imagination  now  saw 


21 


}t  itr-' 

iring 

Set- 

and 

fance 


and  heard  a  thousand  Indians ;  and  I  never  went 
round  my  own  house,  without  first  looking  with 
trembling  caution  by  each  corner,  to  see  if  a 
tomahawk  was  not  raised  for  my  destruction. 

On  the  24th  of  August,  I  was  relieved  from  all 
my  fears,  by  the  arrival  of  my  husband.  He 
brousjlit  intellijyence  from  Connecticut,  that  a  war 
was  expected  the  next  spring,  but  that  no  imme- 
diate danger  was  contemplated.  He  had  made 
preparations  to  remove  to  Northfield,  as  soon  as 
our  stock  of  hay  was  consumed,  and  our  dozen  of 
swine  had  demolished  our  ample  stores  of  grain, 
which  would  secure  his  family  and  property  from 
the  miseries  and  ravages  of  war.  Our  eldest  son, 
Sylvanus,  who  was  six  years  old,  was  in  the  mean 
time  to  be  put  to  school  at  Springfield.  Mr. 
Johnson  brought  home  a  large  addition  to  his 
stores,  and  the  neighbors  made  frequent  parties 
at  our  house,  to  express  their  joy  for  his  return, 
and  time  passed  merrily  olT,  by  the  aid  of  spirit 
and  a  ripe  yard  of  melons.  As  I  was  in  the  last 
days  of  pregnancy,  I  could  not  join  so  heartily  in 
their  good  cheer  as  I  otherwise  might.  Yet,  in 
a  new  country,  pleasure  is  often  derived  from 
sources  unknown  to  those  less  accustomed  to  the 
woods.  The  return  of  my  husband,  the  relief 
from  danger,  the  crowds  of  happy  friends,  com- 
bined to  render  my  situation  peculiarly  agreeable. 
I  now  boasted  with  exultation,  that  I  should,  with 
husband,  friends,  and  luxuries,  live  happy,  in  spite 
of  the  fear  of  savages. 

On  the  evening  of  the  29th  of  August,  our 
house  was  visited  by  a  party  of  neighbors,  who 
»pent  the  time  very  cheerfully,  with  watermelons 
and  flip,  till  midnight ;  they  all  then  retired  in 


23 


high  spirits,  except  a  spruce  young  spark,  who  , 
tarried  a  few  hours  longer,  to  keep  company  with 
my  sister.  Unsuspicious  of  danger,  we  went  to 
bed  with  feelings  well  tuned  for  sleep.  But  O  the 
transition  in  the  morning !  Well  would  it  have 
been  for  us,  if  we  had  observed  the  caution  of  the 
poet: — 

'  But  farewell  now  to  unsuspicious  nights, 

And  slumbers  unalarmed  !    JVow,  ere  you  sleep, 

See  that  your  polished  arms  are  primed  with  care, 

And  drop  the  night-bolt : — ruffians  are  abroad  ; 

And  the  first  larum  of  the  cock's  shrill  throat 

May  prove  a  trumpet,  summoning  your  ear 

To  horrid  sounds  of  hostile  feet  within. 

E'en  day -light  has  its  dangers  ;  and  the  walk 

Through  pathless  wastes  and  woods,  unconscious  once> 

Of  other  tenants  than  melodious  birds. 

Or  harmless  flocks,  is  hazardous  and  bold/       cowp£R. 

We  rested  with  fine  composure,  till  midway 
between  daybreak  and  sunrise,  when  we  were 
roused  by  neighbor  Labarree's  knocking  at  the 
door,  who  had  shouldered  his  axe  to  a  day's  work 
for  my  husband.  Mr.  Johnson  slipped  on  his 
jacket  and  trowsers,  and  stepped  to  the  door  to 
let  him  in.  But  by  opening  the  door  he  opened  a 
scene  terrible  to  describe.  Indians !  Indians ! 
were  the  first  words  I  heard.  He  sprang  to  his 
guns,  but  Labarree,  heedless  of  danger,  instead  of 
closing  the  door  to  keep  them  out,  began  to  rally 
our  hired  men  up  stairs,  for  not  rising  earlier ;  but 
in  an  instant  a  crowd  of  savages,  fixed  horribly  for 
war,  rushed  furiously  in.  I  screamed,  and  beg- 
ged my  friends  to  ask  for  quarter.  By  this  time 
they  were  all  over  the  house ;  some  up  stairs^ 
hauling  my  sister  out  of  bed  ;  another  had  hold  of 
me,  and  one  was  approaching  Mr.  Johnson,  who 
-stood  in  the  middle  (jtfthe  floor  to  deliver  himself 


33 


up ;  but  the  Indian,  supposing  that  he  would  makd 
resistance,  and  be  more  than  his  match,  went  to 
the  door  and  brought  three  of  his  comrades,  and 
the  four  bound  him.  I  was  led  to  the  door,  faint- 
ing and  trembling ;  there  stood  my  friend  Labar- 
ree,  bound;  Ebenezer  Farnsworth,  whom  they 
found  up  chamber,  they  were  putting  in  the  same 
situation;  and,  to  complete  the  shocking  scene, 
my  three  little  children  were  driven  naked  to  the 
place  where  I  stood.  On  viewing  myself,  I  found 
that  I  too  was  naked.  An  Indian  had  plundered 
three  gowns,  who,  on  seeing  my  situation,  gave 
me  the  whole.  I  asked  another  for  a  petticoat, 
but  he  refused  it.  After  what  little  plunder  their 
hurry  would  allow  them  to  get  was  confusedly 
bundled  up,  we  were  ordered  to  march »  After 
going  about  20  rods,  we  fell  behind  a  rising  ground, 
where  we  halted,  to  pack  the  things  in  a  better 
manner ;  while  there ^  a  savage  went  back,  as  we 
supposed,  to  fire  the  buildings.  Farnsworth  pro- 
posed to  my  husband  to  go  back  with  him,  to  get 
a  quantity  of  pork  from  the  cellar,  to  help  us  on 
our  journey ;  but  Mr.  Johnson  prudently  replied, 
that  by  that  means  the  Indians  might  find  the 
rum,  and  in  a  fit  of  intoxication  kill  us  all.  The 
Indian  presently  returned  with  marks  of  fear  in 
his  countenance,*  and  we  were  hurried  on  with  all 
violence.     Two  savages  laid  hold  of  each  of  my 


mg 


This,  as  we  afterwards  found,  was  occasioned  hj  his  meet- 
_  Mr.  Osmer  at  the  door  of  the  house,  who  lodged  m  the  cham- 
ber, and  had  secreted  himself  behind  a  box,  and  was  then  making 
his  escape.  He  run  directly  to  the  fort,  and|the  alarm  guns  were 
fired.  My  father,  Mr.  Moses  Willard,  was  then  second  in  com- 
mand. Capt.  Stevens  was  for  sallying  out  with  a  party  for  our 
relief;  but  my  father  begg  jd  him  to  desist,  as  the  Indians  made 
it  an  invariable  practice  to  kill  their  prisoners  when  attacked. 


34 


arms,  and  hurried  me  through  thorny  thickets  in 
a  most  unmerciful  manner.  I  lost  a  shoe,  and 
suffered  exceedingly.  We  heard  the  alarm  guns 
frOm  the  fort.  This  added  new  speed  to  the  flight 
of  the  savages.  They  were  apprehensive  that 
soldiers  might  be  sent  for  our  relief.  When  we 
had  got  a  mile  and  a  half,  my  faintness  obliged 
me  to  sit.  This  being  observed  by  an  Indian,  he 
drew,  his  knife,  as  i  supposed,  to  put  an  end  to 
my  existence.  But  he  only  cut  some  bands  with 
which  my  gown  was  tied,  and  then  pushed  me  on. 
My  little  children  were  crying,  my  husband  and 
the  other  two  men  were  bound,  and  my  sister  and 
myself  were  obliged  to  make  the  best  of  our  way, 
with  all  our  might.  The  loss  of  my  shoe  ren- 
dered travelling  extremely  painful.  At  the  dis- 
tance of  three  miles,  there  was  a  general  halt ;  the 
savages,  supposing  that  we,  as  well  as  themselves, 
might  have  an  appetite  for  breakfast,  gave  us  a 
loaf  of  bread,  some  raisins,  and  apples,  which  they 
had  taken  from  the  house.  While  we  were  for- 
cing down  our  scanty  breakfast,  a  horse  came  in 
eight,  known  to  us  all  by  the  name  of  Scoggin, 
belonging  to  Phinehas  Stevens,  Esq.  One  of  the 
Indians  attempted  to  shoot  him,  but  was  prevent- 
ed by  Mr.  Johnson.  They  then  expressed  a  wish 
to  catch  him,  saying,  by  pointing  to  me,  for  squaw 
to  ride  :  my  husband  had  previously  been  unbound, 
to  assist  the  children  ;  he,  with  two  Indians,  caught 
the  horse  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  By  this  time, 
my  legs  and  feet  were  covered  with  blood,  which 
being  noticed  by  Mr.  Labarree,  he,  with  that  hu- 
manity which  never  forsook  him,  took  his  own 
stockings  and  presented  them  to  me,  and  the  In- 
dians gave  me  a  pair  of  moggasons.     Bags  and 


25 


blankets  were  thrown  over  Scoggin,  and  I  mount- 
ed on  the  top  of  them,  and  on  we  jogged  about 
seven  miles,  to  the  upper  end  of  Wilcott's  Island. 
We  there  halted,  and  prepared  to  cross  the  river. 
Rafts  were  made  of  dry  timber ;  two  Indians  and 
Farnsworth  crossed  first ;  Labarree,  by  signs,  got 
permission  to  swim  the  horse,  and  Mr.  Johnson 
was  allowed  to  swim  by  the  raft  that  I  was  on,  to 
push  it  along.  We  all  arrived  safe  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  about  four  o'clock  in  the  aft^^ 
noon  ;  a  fire  was  kindled,  and  some  of  their  stolj 
kettles  were  hung  over  it,  and  filled  with  porridj 
The  savages  took  delight  in  viewing  their  spoil, 
which  amounted  to  forty  or  fifty  pounds  in  value. 
They  then,  with  a  true  savage  yell,  gave  the  war- 
whoop,  and  bid  defiance  to  danger.  As  our  tarry 
in  this  place  lasted  an  hour,  I  had  time  to  reflect 
on  our  miserable  situation.  Captives  in  the 
power  of  unmerciful  savages,  without  provision, 
and  almost  without  clothes,  in  a  wilderness  where 
we  must- sojourn  as  long  as  the  children  of  Israel 
did,  for  aught  we  knew,  and,  what  added  to  our 
distress,  not  one  of  our  savage  masters  could  un- 
derstand a  word  of  English.  Here,  after  being 
hurried  from  home  with  such  rapidity,  I  have 
leisure  to  inform  the  reader  respecting  our  Indian 
masters.  They  were  eleven*  in  number,  men  of 
middle  age,  except  one,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  who, 
in  our  journey,  discovered  a  very  mischievous 
and  troublesome  disposition.  According  to  their 
national  practice,  he  who  first  laid  hands  on  a 


*  Mr.  Labarree  is  very  positive,  and  I  tliink  Mr.  Johnson  was 
of  the  same  opinion,  that  seventeen  Indians  attackec*  the  house  ; 
the  other  six  might  have  been  a  scouting  party,  that  watched  till 
we  were  out  of  danger,  and  then  took  another  route, 

2* 


26 


prisouer  considered   him   as  his  property.     My 
master,  who  was  the  one  that  took  my  hand  when 
I  sat  oh  the  bed,  was  as  clever  an  Indian  as  ever 
I  saw;  he  even   evinced,  at  numerous  times,  a 
disposition  that  showed  he  was  by  no  means  void 
of  compassion.     The  ^our  who  took  my  husband 
claimed   liim  as  their  property,  and  my   sister, 
three  children.   Labarree,  and  Farnsworth,  had 
each  a  master.     When  the  time   came  for  us  to 
repare  to  march,  I  almost  expired  at  the  thought 
o  leave  my  aged  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  and 
nds,  and  travel  with  savages,  through  a  dismal 
forest  to  unknown  regions,  in  the  alarming  situa- 
tion I  then  was  in,  with  three    small   children. 
The  eldest,  Sylvanus,  who  was  but  six  years  old. 
My  eldest  daughter,  Susanna,  was  four,  and  Polly, 
the  other,  two.     My  sister  Miriam  was  fourteen. 
My  husband  was  barefoot,  and  otherwise  thinly 
clothed;  his  master   had  taken   his  jacket,   and 
nothing  but  his  shirt  and  trowsers  remained.     My 
two  daughters  had  nothing  but  their  shifts,  and  I 
only  the  gown  that  was  handed  me  by  the  savages. 
In  addition  to  the  sufferings  which  arose  from  my 
own  deplorable    condition,  I  could  not  but  feel 
for  my  friend  Labarree ;  he  had   left  a  wife  and 
four  small  children  behind,  to  lament  his  loss, 
and  to  render  his  situation  extremely  unhappy. 
With  all  these  misfortunes  lying  heavily  upon  me, 
the  reader  can  imagine  my  situation.     The  In- 
dians  pronounced   the   dreadful  word,  '  Munch,* 
march,  and  on  we  must  go.     I  was   put  on  the 
horse;  Mr.  Johnson  took  one  daughter,  and  Mr. 
Labarree,  being  unbound,  took  the  other.     We 
went  six  or  eight  miles,  and  stopped  for  the  night. 
The  men  were  made  secure,  by  having  their  legsf 


27 


put  in  split  sticks,  somewhat  like  stocks,  and  tied 
with  cords,  which  were  tied  to  the  Umhs  of  trees 
too  high  to  be  reached.  My  sister,  much  to  her 
mortification,  must  lie  between  two  Indians,  with 
a  cord  thrown  over  her,  and  passing  under  each 
of  them ;  the  little  children  had  blankets,  and  I 
was  allowed  one  for  mv  use.  Thus  we  took 
lodging  for  the  night,  with  the  sky  for  a  covering, 
and  the  ground  for  a  pillow.  The  fatigues  of  the 
proceeding  day  obliged  me  to  sleep  several  hours, 
in  spite  of  the  horrors  which  surrounded  me.  Th 
Indians  observed  great  silence,  and  never  spok 
liut  when  really  necessary,  and  all  the  prisoners 
were  disposed  to  say  but  Tttle.  My  children  were 
much  more  peaceable  than  could  be  imagined : 
gloomy  fear  imposed  a  deadly  silence. 


si 


CHAPTER  II. 


History  of  our  Journey  through  the  Wilderness,  till 
we  came  to  the  Waters  that  enter  Lake  Chamjplain, 

In  the  morning  we  were  roused  before  sunrise. 
The  Indians  struck  up  a  fire,  hung  on  their  stolen 
kettles,  and  made  us  some  watergruel  for  break- 
fast. After  a  few  sips  of  this  meagre  fare,  I  was 
again  put  on  the  horse,  with  my  husband  by  my 
side^  to  hold  me  on.  My  two  fellpw-prisoners 
took  the  little  girls,  and  we  marched  sorrowfully 
on  for  an  hour  or  two,  when  a  keener  distress  was 
added  to  my  multiplied  afflictions:  I  was  taken 
with  the  pangs  of  childbirth.  The  Indians  signi- 
fied to  us  that  we  must  go  on  to  a  brook.    When 


28 


We  got  there,  they  showed  some  humanity,  by 
making  a  booth  for  me.  Here  the  compassionate 
reader  will  drop  a  fresh  tear  for  my  inexpressible 
distress :  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from  the  abode 
of  any  civilized  being,  in  the  open  wilderness, 
rendered  cold  by  a  rainy  day,  in  one  of  the  most 
perilous  hours,  and  unsupplied  with  the  least 
necessary,  that  could  yield  convenience  in  this 
hazardous  moment.  My  children  were  crying  at 
a  distance,  where  they  were  held  by  their  masters, 

nd  only  my  husband  and  sister  to  attend  me. 

one  but  mothers  can  figure  to  themselves  my 
tinhappy  fortune.  The  Indians  kept  aloof  the 
whole  time.  About  ten  o'clock  a  daughter  was 
born.*     They  then  brought  me  some  articles  of 

*  In  September,  1797, 1  made  a  tour,  accompanied  by  Elijah 
Grout,  Esq.,  and  my  daughter,  E.  C.  Kimball,  to  Weathersfield, 
to  find  the  spot  of  ground  where  my  daughter  was  born,  but 
Could  not  find  it  to  my  satisfaction  at  that  time.  In  August, 
1790, 1  again  set  off* for  the  same  purpose,  accompanied  bv  my 
daughter  aforesaid,  and  was  joined  by  Nathaniel  Stoton,1]^sq.- 
and  Mrs.  Whipple,  of  Weathersfield.  In  this  tour  we  passed 
two  small  streams,  and,  on  coming  to  the  third,  I  was  convinced 
it  must  be  up  that  stream  some  small  distance.  I  requested  a 
halt,  and,  on  viewing  a  cliff"  of  rocks,  I  informed  my  company 
that  we  were  not  far  from  the  place.  The  reader  may  well  sup- 
pose, that  I  was  not  a  little  overjoyed  at  the  expectation  of 
viewing  the  place  where  I  had  undergone  so  much  sorrow.  The 
keenest  anguish  of  soul,  the  providential  deliverance,  and  the 
almost  miraculous  preservation,  has  ever  rendered  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  spot  dear  to  me.  and  it  can  only  be  forgotten  with 
my  existence.  We  pursued  up  the  stream  a  little  farther,  and, 
on  viewing  the  rocks  aforesaid,  I  knew  them  to  be  the  same 
which  were  spoken  of  by  my  husband  and  others,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  our  departure  on  our  journey  with  the  Indians,  which  rock, 
they  said,  would  remain  as  a  monument,  that,  should  any  of  us 
ever  be  so  happy  as  to  return,  we  miirhtfind  the  place,  ^'though 
at  that  time  it  was  nothing  but  a  wilderness.  We  also  discov- 
ered a  bog-meadow,  where  the  horse  mired  with  me,  in  the 
morning  prior  to  the  birth  of  my  child.  And  I  recollected  that  it 
was  nigh  the  brook;  or  when  crossing  the  stream,  that  I  felt  the 


) 


-by 

mate 
isible 
ibode 
*ness, 
most 
least 
this 
\tig  at 
isters, 
irie. 
s  my 
f  the 
was 
es  of 


'  Elijah 
3rsfield, 
3rn,  but 
August, 

bv  my 
n,jEsq.- 

passed 
ivinced 
ested  a 
ompany 
ell  sup. 
tion  of 
'.  The 
md  the 
icollec- 
n  with 
iT,  and, 
B  same 

morn- 
h  rock, 
f  of  us 
though 
liscov- 
in  the 
that  it 
sk  the 


-^■. 


29 


clothing  for  the  child,  which  they  had  taken  from 
the  house.  My  master  looked  into  the  booth,  and 
clapped  his  hands  with  joy,  crying,  *  Two  monies 
for  me,  two  monies  for  me.'  I  was  permitted  to 
rest  the  remainder  of  the  day.  The  Indians  were 
employed  in  making  a  bier  for  the  prisoners  to 
carry  me  on,  and  another  booth  for  my  lodging 
during  night.  They  brought  a  needle  and  two 
pins,  and  some  bark  to  tie  the  cnjld's  clothes, 
which  they  gave  my  sister,  and  a  large  woode 
spoon  to  feed  it  with  ;  at  dusk  they  made  so 
porridge,  and  brought  a  cup  to  steep  some  roo 
in,  which  Mr.  Labarree  had  provided.  In  the 
evening  I  was  removed  to  the  new  booth.  For 
supper,   they   made    more    porridge,    and    some 


ICS, 


first  pangs  which  were  indicative  of  the  sorrowful  scene  that 
soon  followed.  And,  from  the  rocks  before  mentioned,  the  bog- 
meadows,  the  stream,  and  a  dry  spot  of  ground,  resembling  the 
^ne  on  which  the  savages  built  my  booth — circumstances  that 
could  not  well  be  forgotten— I  was  very  well  satisfied,  as  to  its 
being  the  place  for  which  I  had  sought.  However,  that  I  might 
be  still  more  certain— as  I  purposed  to  have  a  monument  erected 
on  the  spot— in  1799, 1  agam  set  out,  accompanied  by  my  friend 
and  fellow-prisoner,  Mr.  Labarree,  and  took  a  further  view,  to  as- 
certain with  more  precision  the  memorable  place.  When  we  had 
arrived,  we  were  both  agreed  as  to  the^dentical  spot  of  ground, 
even  within  a  few  feet,  and  ascertained  that  it  was  on  the  north- 
east corner  lot  of  land  in  Cavendish,  and  is  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  main  road  leading  from  Weathersfield  to  Reading,  where  is 
erected  a  monument,  with  the  following  inscription,  which  the 
friendly  reader  may  peruse,  if  he  should  ever  pass  that  way  : — 

'  This  is  near  the  spot  where  the  Indians  encamped,  the  night 
after  they  took  Mr.  Johnson  and  family,  Mr.  Labarree,  and 
Farnsworth,  August  30,  1754';  and  Mrs.  Johnson  was  delivered 
of  her  child,  half  a  mile  up  this  brook. 

'  When  trouble's  near  the  Lord  is  kind  j 

He  hears  the  captive's  cry  : 
He  can  subdue  the  savage  mind, 

And  learn  it  sympathy.' 


30 


v^^ 


johnny-cakes.  My  portion  was  brought  me  in  a 
little  bark.  I  slept  that  night  far  beyond  ejqpec- 
tation.  # 

In  the  morning  we  were  summoned  for  the  jour- 
ney, after  the  usual  breakfast  of  meal  and  water. 
I,  with  my  infant  in  my  arms,  was  laid  on  the  litter, 
which  was  supported  alternately  by  Mr.  Johnson, 
Labarree,  and  Farnsworth.  My  sister  and  son  were 
put  upon  Scoggin,  and  the  two  little  girls  rode  on 
eir  master's  backs.  Thus  we  proceeded  two 
iles,  when  my  carriers  grew  too  faint  to  pro- 
ed  any  further.  This  being  observed  by  our 
ble  masters,  a  general  halt  was  called,  and  they 
embodied  themselves  for  council.  My  master 
soon  made  signs  to  Mr.  Johnson,  that,  if  I  could 
ride  on  the  horse,  I  might  proceed ;  otherwise,  I 
must  be  left  behind.  Here  I  observed  marks  of 
pity  in  his  countenance ;  but  this  might  arise  from 
the  fear  of  losing  his  two  monies.     I  preferred  an 

Another  monument  is  erected  on  the  spot  of  ground  where  the 
child  was  born,  with  this  inscription : — 

'  On  the  31st  of  August,  A.D.,  1754,  Capt.  James  Johnson  had  a 
daughter  born  on  this  spot  of  ground — being  captivated  with  his 
whole  family,  by  the  Indians.  -^ 

'  If  mothers  e'er  should  wander  here, 
They'll  drop  a  sympathetic  tear 
For  her,  who,  in  the  howling  wild  / 

Was  safe  delivered  of  a  child.' 

In  June,  1803,  I  for  the  last  time  visited  the  place,  where, 
almost  fifty-four  years  before,  I  had  experienced  the  keenest 
sorrow  that  perhaps  was  ever  equalled  by  any  woman.  I  was 
accompanied  by  Col.  Kimball  and  my  daughter,  E.  Captive,  his 
wife,  to  Weathersfield,  and  there  we  were  joined  by  Capt.  Sher- 
win  and  his  wife,  and  Mr.  Demell  Grout. — This  Mr.  Demell 
Grout  was  a  son  of  Mrs.  Grout,  who  was  in  captivity  at  the  same 
time  that  I  was  j  and  his  given  name  was  to  keep  in  remembrance 
the  name  of  the  gentleman  who  bought  his  mother  from  the  In- 


31 


attempt  to  ride  on  the  horse,  rather  than  to  perish 
miserably  alone.     Mr.  Labarree  took  the  infant, 
and  every  step  of  the  horse  almost  deprived  me  of 
Hfe.  My  weak  and  helpless  condition  rendered  me, 
in  a  degree,  insensible  to  every  thing.     My  poor 
<jhild  could  have  no  sustenance  from  my   breast, 
and  was  supported  entirely  by  watergruel.     My 
other  little  children,  rendered  peevish  by  an  un- 
easy mode  of  riding,  often  burst  into  cries,  but  a 
surly  check  from  their  masters  soon  silenced  them. 
We  proceedfjd  on  with   a  slow,  mournful  pac 
My  weakness  was  too  severe  to  allow  me  to 
on  the  horse  long  at  a  time ;  every  hour  I  w  ^ 
taken  off,  and  laid  on  the  ground  to  rest.     Thi 
preserved  my  life  during  the  third  day.     At  night 
we  found  ourselves  at  the  head  of  Black  River 
Pond.      Here  we  prepared  to  spend  the  night. 
Our  supper  consisted  of  gruel,  and  the  broth  of  a 
hawk  they  had  killed  the  preceeding  day.     The 

dians,  and  was  ever  kind  and  friendly  to  her.— "^hen  we  arrived 
at  the  brook,  my  thoughts  were  instantly  back  at  the  time  I  first 
saw  it,  though  the  scene  was  widely  different  from  what  it  then 
was.     It  was  then  a  dreary  wilderness  j  now  the  wilderness  was 

-  turned  into  fruitful  fields,  dressed  in  verdure,  which  richly  re- 
paid the  laljors  of  the  husbandmen.  It  was  tlien  9,  dwelling  for 
savages  and  wild  beasts  of  the  forest — now  a  habitation  of  good 
citizens,  with  their  flocks  and  herds,  who  live  in  domestic  peace, 
happiness,  and>  plenty.  After  viewing  the  scene,  and  contem- 
plating on  the  striking  contrasts  a  few  moments,  to  add  to  the 
sensibility,  we  sat  down  and  partook  of  a  repast,  and  regaled 
ourselves  with  liquor,  mixed  with  water  from  the  same  fountain 

f  that  I  and  my  child  first  partook  of.  in  that  gloomy  and  sorrow- 
ful day  of  trouble  and  affliction.  Then  my  fare  was  meagre  meal 
and  water,  and  steeped  roots,  and  a  large  wooden  spoon  to  feed 
my  infant  babe  ;  now  we  had  the  best  of  liquid  spirits,  and  eata- 
bles, which,  in  comparison,  might  be  said  to  be  dainties.  The 
contrast  is  too  great  for  pen  to  describe.  My  female  readers, 
who  vp  mothers,  may  in  some  degree  conceive  of  it,  though 
iH  they  cannot  realize  it  like  her  to  whom  it  is  by  experience  a 
striking  reality. 


I 'J 


32 


prisoners  were  secured,  as  usual ;  a  booth  was 
made  for  me,  and  all  went  to  rest.  Afler  encamp- 
ment, we  entered  into  a  short  conversation.  My 
sister  observed,  that,  if  I  could  have  been  left 
behind,  our  trouble  would  have  been  seemingly 
nothing.  My  husband  hoped,  by  the  assistance 
of  Providence,  we  should  all  be  preserved.  Mr. 
Labarree  pitied  his  poor  family,  and  Farnsworth 
summed  the  whole  of  his  wishes,  by  saying  that,  if 
he  could  have  got  a  layer  of  pork  from  the  cellar, 
e  should  not  be  in  fear  of  starvation.  The  night 
a  uncommonly  dark,  and  passed  tediously  off.  ^ 
In  the  morning,  half  chilled  with  a  cold  fog,  we 
ere  ordered  from  our  places  of  rest,  offered  the 
lean  fare  of  meal  and  water,  and  then  prepared 
for  the  journey.  Every  thing  resembled  a  funeral 
procession.  The  savages  preserved  their  gloomy 
sadness;  the  prisoners,  bowed  down  with  grief 
and  fatigue,  felt  little  disposition  to  talk ;  and  the 
unevenness  of  the  country,  sometimes  lying  in 
miry  plains,  at  others  rising  into  steep  and  broken 
hills,  rendered  our  passage  hazardous  and  painful. 
Mr.  Labarree  kept  the  infant  in  his  arms,  and 
preserved  its  life.  The  fifth  day's  journey  was  an 
unvaried  scene  of  fatigue.  The  Indians  sent  out 
two  or  three  hunting  parties,  who  returned  with- 
out game.  As  we  had  in  the  morning  consumed 
the  last  morsel  of  our  meal,  every  one  now  began 
to  be  seriously  alarmed,  and  hunger,  with  all  its 
horrors,  looked  us  earnestly  in  the  face.  At  night, 
we  found  the  waters  that  run  into  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  which  was  over  the  height  of  land ;  before 
dark,  we  halted,  and  the  Indians,  by  the  help  of 
their  punk,  which  they  carried  in  horns,  made  a 
fire.    They  soon  adopted  a  plan  to  relieve  their 


hungei 

a  few  1 

native 

To  use 

of  thei 

their  o 

horse 

could 

situati 

Appeti 

abund 

steak. 

made 

Broth 

render 

After 

those 

Btreng 

via,  c 

was  e 

maine 

distres 

had  ai 

difficu 

tence 

so  gre 

taken 

expiri 

no  m( 

death 

wide, 


■1 

L 


amp- 
My 

left 
ingly 
ance 
Mr. 
Forth 
at,  if 
^Ilar, 
ight 
off. 

r>  we 

I  the 

•ared 

leral 

\omy 

grief 

[  the 

g  in 

oken 

nful, 
and 

IS  an 
out 

nth- 

med 

jgan 

I  its 

gbt, 

am- 

fore 

»  of 

e  a 

lieir 


33 

hunger.    The  horse  was  shot,  and  his  flesh  was  in 
a  few  moments  broiled  on  embers,  and  they,  with 
native  gluttony,  satiated  their  craving  appetites. 
To  use  the  term  politeness,  in  the  management 
of  their  repast,  may  be  thought  a  burlesque ;  yet 
their  offering  the  prisoners  the  best  parts  of  the 
horse  certainly  bordered  on  civility;  an  epicure 
could  not  have  catered  nicer  slices,  nor,  in  that 
situation,  served  them  up  with  more  neatness* 
Appetite  is  said  to  be  the  best  sauce;   yet  out 
abundance  of  it  did  not  render  savory  this  novel 
steak.  My  children,  however,  eat  too  much,  which 
made  them  very  unwell  for  a  number  of  days. 
Broth  was  made  for  me  and  my  child,  which  was 
rendered  almost  a  luxury  by  the  seasoning  of  roots. 
After  supper,  countenances  began  to  brighten ; 
those  who  had  relished  the  meal,  exhibited  new 
strength,  and  those  who  had  only  snuffed  its  efflu- 
via, confessed  themselves  regaled;  the  evening 
was  employed  in  drying  and  smoking  what  re- 
mained for  future  use.     The  night  was  a  scene  of 
distressing  fears  to  me,  and  my  extreme  weakness 
had  affected  my  mind  to  sucli  a  degree,  that  every 
difficulty  appeared  doubly  terrible.     By  the  assis- 
tence  of  Scoggin,  I  had  been  brought  so  far ;  yet, 
so  great  was  my  debility,  that  every  hour  I  was 
taken  off  and  laid  on  the  ground,  to  keep  me  from 
expiring.    But  now,  alas !  this  conveyance  was 
no  more.     To  walk  was  impossible.     Inevitable 
death  in  the  midst  of  woods,  one  huudred  miles 
wide,  appeared  my  only  portion, 


11 


1  ♦^ 


34 


If 

<  I 


•I 


CHAPTER  III. 

Continuation  till  our  arrival  at  East  Bai/,  in  Lake 

Champlain. 

In  tlie  morning  of  the  sixth  day,  the  Indians 
exerted  themselves  to  prepare  one  of  their  great- 
est dainties.  The  marrowbones  of  old  Scoggin 
were  pounded  for  a  soup,  and  every  root,  both 
sweet  and  bitter,  that  the  woods  afforded,  was 
thrown  in,  to  give  it  a  flavor.  Each  one  partook 
of  as  much  as  his  feelings  would  allow.  The  war- 
whoop  then  resounded,  with  ar  infernal  yell,  and 
we  began  to  fix  for  a  march.  My  fate  was  un- 
known, till  my  master  brought  some  bark,  and 
tied  my  petticoats  as  high  as  he  supposed  would 
be  convenient  for  walking,  and  ordered  me  to 
*  Munch.'  With  scarce  strength  to  stand  alone,  I 
went  on  half  a  mile,  with  my  little  son  and  three 
Indians.  The  rest  were  advanced.  My  power 
to  move  then  failed ;  the  world  grew  dark,  and  I 
dropped  down.  I  had  sight  enough  to  see  an  In- 
dian lift  his  hatchet  over  my  head,  while  my  little 
son  screamed,  '  Ma'am,  do  go,  for  they  will  kill 
you.'  As  I  fainted,  my  last  thought  was,  that  I 
should  presently  be  in  the  world  of  spirits.  When 
I  awoke,  ray  master  was  talking  angrily  with  the 
savage  who  had  threatened  my  life.  By  his  ges- 
tures, I  could  learn,  that  he  charged  him  with  not 
acting  the  honorable  part  of  a  warrior,  by  an 
attempt  to  destroy  the  prize  of  a  brother.  A 
whoop  was  given  for  a  halt.  My  master  helped 
me  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  where  a  council 
ivas  held,  the  result  of  which  was,  that  my  hus- 


band s 

This  1 

overpo 

and  so 

me  fur 

debate 

my  mi 

My  hu 

sight, 

rid  the 

But  h 

monie 

to  ma^ 

back  ' 

marcV 

Labai 

one  o 

maste 

owin§ 

eat;  I 

cing  i 

None 

of  an' 

• 

be  for 

torm< 

on  he 

whicl 

move 

then 

over 

was 

than 

In 

Witl 

had 


Ill 


35 


band  should  walk  by  my  side,  and  help  me  alonf^. 
This  he  did  for  some  hours,  but  faintness  then 
overpowered  me,  and  Mr.  Johnson's  tenderness 
and  solicitude  was  unequal  to  the  task  of  aiding 
me  further.  Another  council  was  held  :  while  in 
debate,  as  I  lay  on  the  ground,  gasping  for  breath, 
my  master  sprang  towards  me  with  his  hatchet. 
My  husband  and  fellow-prisoners  grew  pale  at  the 
sight,  suspecting  that  he,  by  a  single  blow,  would 
rid  themselves  of  so  great  a  burthen  as  I  was. 
But  he  had  yet  too  much  esteem  for  his  *  two 
monies.'  His  object  was  to  get  bark  from  a  tree, 
to  make  a  packsaddle,  for  my  conveyance  on  the 
back  of  my  husband.  He  took  me  up,  and  we 
marched  in  that  form  the  rest  of  the  day.  Mr. 
Labarree  still  kept  my  infant,  Farnsworth  carried 
one  of  the  little  girls,  and  the  other  rode  with  her 
master.  They  were  extremely  sick  and  weak, 
owing  to  the  large  portion  of  the  horse  which  they 
eat ;  but  if  they  uttered  a  murmuring  word,  a  mena- 
cing frown  from  the  savages  soon  imposed  silence. 
None  of  the  Indians  were  disposed  to  show  insults 
of  any  nature,  except  the  youngest,  which  I  have 
before  mentioned.  He  often  delighted  himself  by 
tormenting  my  sister,  by  pulling  her  hair,  treading 
on  her  gown,  and  numerous  other  boyish  pranks, 
which  were  provoking  and  troublesome.  We 
moved  on,  faint  and  wearily,  till  night ;  the  Indians 
then  yelled  their  war-whoop,  built  a  fire,  and  hung 
over  their  horse-broth.  After  supper,  my  booth 
was  built,  as  usual,  and  I  reposed  much  better 
than  I  had  the  preceeding  nights. 

In  the  morning,  I  found  myself  greatly  restored. 
Without  the  aid  of  physicians  or  physic,  nature 
had  began  the  cure  of  that  weakness  to  which  she 


36 


had  reduced  me  but  a  few  dajs  before.  The 
reader  will  be  tired  of  the  repetition  of  the  same 
materials  for  our  meals ;  but  if  my  feelings  can  be 
realized,  no  one  will  turn  with  disgust  from  a 
breakfast  of  steaks,  which  were  cut  from  the  thigh 
of  a  horse.  After  which,  Mr.  Johnson  was  ordered 
to  take  the  infant,  and  go  forward  with  part  of 
the  company.  I  '  munched'  in  the  rear  till  we 
came  to  a  beaver-pond,  which  was  formed  in  a 
branch  of  Otter  Creek.  Here  I  was  obliged  to 
wade ;  when  half  way  over,  up  to  the  middle  in 
cold  water,  my  little  strength  failed,  and  my 
power  to  speak  or  see  lefl  me.  While  motionless 
and  stiffened  in  the  middle  of  the  pond,  I  was 
perceived  from  the  other  side,  by  Mr.  Johnson, 
who  laid  down  the  infant,  and  came  to  my  assis- 
tance; he  took  me  in  his  arms,  and,  when  the 
opposite  side  was  gained,  life  itself  had  apparent- 
ly forsaken  me.  The  whole  company  stopped, 
and  the  Indians,  with  more  humanity  than  I  sup- 
posed them  possessed  of,  busied  themselves  in 
making  a  fire,  to  warm  me  into  life.  The  warm 
influence  of  the  fire  restored  my  exhausted  strength 
by  degrees,  and  in  two  hours  I  was  told  to  '  Munch.' 
The  rest  of  the  day  I  was  carried  by  my  husband. 
In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  we  arrived  on  the 
banks  of  one  of  the  great  branches  of  Otter  Creek. 
Here  we  halted,  and  two  savages,  who  had  been 
on  a  hunting  scout,  returned  with  a  duck ;  a  fire 
was  made,  which  was  thrice  grateful  to  my  cold, 
shivering  limbs.  Six  days  had  now  almost  elapsed,^ 
since  the  fatal  morn  in  which  we  were  taken,  and, 
by  the  blessing  of  that  Providence,  whose  smiles 
give  life  to  creation,  we  were  still  in  existence. 
My  wearied  husband,  naked  children^  and  belp- 


MlM 


37 


less  infant,  formed  a  scene  that  conveyed  severer 
pangs  to  my  heart,  than  all  the  sufferings  I  en- 
dured  myself.       The   Indians   were   sullen   and 
silent,  the  prisoners  were  swollen  with  gloomy 
grief,  and  I  was  half  the  time  expiring.     After  my 
feelings  were  a  little  quickened  by  warmth,  my 
sad  portion  was  brought  in  a  bark,  consisting  of 
the  duck's  head,  and  a  gill  of  broth.     As  I  lifted 
the  unsavory  morsel,  with  a  trembling  hand,  to 
my  mouth,  I  cast  my  thoughts  back  a  few  days, 
to  a  time  when,  from  a  board  plentifully  spread, 
in  my  own  house,  I  eat  my  food  with  a  merry 
heart.       The   wooden  spoon  dropped  from  my 
feeble  hand.      The  contrast   was  too    affecting. 
Seated  on  a  ragged  rock,  beneath  a  hemlock,  as  I 
then  was — emaciated  by  sickness,  and  surrounded 
by  my  weeping  and  distressed  family,  who  were 
helpless  prisoners — despair  would  have  robbed  me 
of  life,  had  I  not  put  my  whole  confidence  in  that 
Being  who  has  power  to  save.     Our  masters  be- 
gan to  prepare  to  ford  the  stream.     I  swallowed 
rilost  of  my  broth,  and  was  taken  up  by  my  hus- 
band.    The  river  was  very   rapid,  and  passing 
dangerous.     Mr.  Labarree,  when  half  over  with 
my  child,  was  tripped  up  by  its  rapidity,  and  lost 
the  babe  in  the  water.     Little  did  I  expect  to  see 
the  poor  thing  again  ;  but  he  fortunately  reached 
a  corner  of  its  blanket,  and  saved  its  life.     The 
rest  sc*X  safe  to  the  other  shore.     Another  fire  was 
built    md  my  sister  dried  the  infant  and  its  clothes. 
Here  we  found  a  proof  of  Indian  sagacity,  which 
might  justly  be  supposed  not  to  belong  to  a  band 
of  rambling  barbarians.     In  their  journey  over  to 
the  Connecticut  River,  they  had,  in  this  place, 
killed  a  bear.     The  entrails  were  cleansed,  and 
8 


\>^ 


m* 


38 


filled  with  the  fat  of  the  animal,  and  suspended 
from  the  limb  of  a  tree  ;  by  it  wag  deposited  a  bag 
of  flour,  and  some  tobacco,  all  which  was  design- 
ed for  future   stores,  when   travelling  that  way. 
Nothing  could  have  been  offered  more  acceptable 
than  these  tokens  of  Indian  economy  and  pru- 
dence.    The  flour  was  made  into  pudding,  and 
the  bear-grease  sauce  was  noti.nrelishing.     Broth 
was  made,  and  well  seasoned  with  snakeroot,  and 
those  who  were  fond  of  tobacco  had  each  their 
share.     The  whole  formed  quite  a  sumptuous  en- 
tertainment.    But  these  savage  dainties  made  no 
sensible  addition  to  our  quota  of  happiness.     My 
weakness  increased,  my  children  were  v-ery  un- 
well, and  Mr.  Johnson's  situation  was  truly  dis- 
tressing.      By    travelling  barefoot   over   such    a 
length  of  forest,  and  supporting  me  on  his  shoul- 
ders, his  feet  were  rendered  sore  beyond  descrip- 
tion.    I  cannot  express  too  much  gratitude  for  Mr. 
labarree's  goodness.      My  infant   was  his  sole 
chai'ge,  and  he  supported  it  by  pieces  of  the  horse- 
flesh, which  he  kept  for  its  use,  which,  by  being 
first  chewed  in  his  own  mouth,  and  then  put  into 
the  child's,  afforded  it  the  necessary  nutriment. 
After  supper,  my  booth  was  made,  the  evening 
yell  was  sounded,  and  we  encamped  for  the  night. 
By  this  time  the  savages  had  relaxed  part  of  their 
watchfulness,  and   began  to  be  careless  of  our 
escaping.     Labarree  and  Farnsworth  were  slight- 
ly bound,  and  my  husband  had  all  his  liberty. 
My  sister  could  sleep  without  her  two  Indian 
companions,  and  the  whole  company  appeared 
less  like  prisoners. 

In  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  we  were 
roused  at  sunrise.     Although  the  early  part  of 


mded 
|a  bag 
jsign- 
way. 
(table 
pru- 
and 
IBroth 
ft,  and 
their 
IS  en- 
de  no 
My 
y  un- 
y  dis- 
uch    a 
shoul- 
iscrip- 
or  Mr. 
s  sole 
horse- 
being 
it  into 
inient. 
'^ening 
night, 
f  their 
)f  our 
slight- 
berty. 
ndian 
eared 

were 
irt  of 


ad 


September  is  generally  i)iessed  with  a  serene  sky 
and  a  warm  sun,  yet  we  suffered  exceedingly  by 
the  cold.  The  mornings  were  damp  and  foggy, 
and  the  lofty  trees  and  numerous  mountains  often 
exclude  the  sun  till  noon.  Our  snakeroot  broth, 
enriched  with  flour,  made  a  rare  breakfast,  and 
gave  a  little  strength  to  our  exhausted  limbs. 
Orders  came  to  *  Munch.'  My  poor  husband  took 
me  upon  the  packsaddle,  and  we  resumed  our 
march.  Long  before  night,  despondency  had 
strikingly  pictured  every  countenance.  My  little 
son,  who  had  performed  the  whole  journey  on 
foot,  was  almost  lifeless.  Mr.  Johnson  was  ema- 
ciated, and  almost  exhausted :  often  he  laid  me  on 
the  ground,  to  save  his  own  life  and  mine  ;  for  my 
weakness  was  too  great  to  ride  far,  without  re- 
quiring rest.  While  prostrate  upon  the  earth,  and 
able  to  speak,  I  often  begged  him  to  leave  me 
there,  to  end  a  life  which  could  last  but  a  short 
time,  and  would  take  his  with  it,  if  he  continued 
his  exertions  to  save  me ;  but  the  idea  was  too 
shocking.  We  continued  our  journey,  in  a  slow, 
sorrowful  mood,  till  night.  Often  did  I  measure 
a  small  distance  for  the  sun  to  run,  before  I  must 
bid  it  an  eternal  adieu.  But  the  same  Providence 
who  had  brought  us  so  far,  and  inclined  our  savage 
masters  to  mercy,  continued  my  protector.  Farns- 
worth  carried  me  a  small  distance,  and  at  last 
darkness  put  an  end  to  our  painful  day's  journey. 
After  the  customary  refreshment,  we  went  to  rest. 
The  night  was  terrible ;  the  first  part  was  Egyp- 
tian darkness,  then  thunder,  and  lightening,  and 
rain.  On  the  cold  earth,  without  a  cover,  our 
situation  may  be  imagined,  but  not  described. 
The  Indians  gave  me  an  additional  blanket  for 


il 


40 


my  use,  and  showed  some  concern  for  my  welfare ; 
but  it  will  ever  stand  first  among  modern  miracles, 
that  my  life  was  spared.  •       * 

The  morning  came,  and  a  bright  sun  reanimat- 
ed our  drowned  spirits.  The  whole  company 
now  resembled  a  group  of  ghosts,  more  than 
bodily  forms.  Little  did  I  expect  that  the  light  of 
another  day  would  witness  my  existence — sensi- 
ble, that  if  my  own  sad  diseases  did  not  finish  my 
existence,  my  husband  would  be  reduced^  to  the 
woful  alternative,  of  either  perishing  with  me,  or 
leaving  me  in  the  woods,  to  preserve  his  own  life. 
The  horrid  yell  was  given,  which  was  a  signal  for 
preparation.  Melancholy  sat  heavily  on  every 
countenance,  and  the  tear  of  woe  moistened  the 
sickened  cheek  of  every  prisoner.  In  addition  to 
famine  and  fatigue,  so  long  a  journey,  without  a 
shoe  for  defence,  had  lacerated  and  mangled 
every  foot  to  a  shocking  degree ;  travelling^  was 
keenly  painful.  The  scanty  breakfast  was  served 
up ;  as  I  was  lifting  my  gill  of  broth  to  my  cold 
lips,  my  master,  with  a  rash  hand,  pulled  it  from 
me,  and  gave  it  to  my  husband,  observing,  by 
signs,  that  he  required  all  the  sustenance,  to  ena- 
ble him  to  carry  me.  I  yielded  on  the  supposi- 
tion that  it  was  a  matter  of  little  consequence, 
whether  any  thing  was  bestowed  to  that  body 
whioli  must  soon  mingle  with  its  original  clay. 
With  sorrow  and  anguish,  we  began  the  ninth 
day's  journey .  Before  we  proceeded  far,  the  In- 
dians signified  to  us,  that  we  should  arrive  before 
night  at  East  Bay,  on  Lake  Champlain.  This 
was  a  cordial  to  our  drooping  spirits,  and  caused 
an  immediate  transition  from  despair  to  joy ;  the 
idea  of  arriving  at  a  place  of  water  carriage, 


trans 

with 

forw 

sent 

the 

agre 

that 

felt 

dist 

wat 


[fare ; 
teles, 

limat- 
[pany 

than 
^ht  of 
sensi- 
my 
the 


M 

translated  us  to  new  life.  Those  who  languished 
with  sickness,  fatigue,  or  despair,  now  marched 
forward  with  nerv^  us  alacrity.  Two  Indians  were 
sent  on  a  hunting  scout,  who  were  to  meet  us  at 
the  bay,  with  canoes.  This  seasonable  and 
agreeable  intelligence  had  every  possible  effect 
that  was  good;  we  walked  with  greater  speed, 
felt  less  of  the  journey,  and  thought  little  of  our 
distress.  About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the 
waters  of  the  lake  were  seen  from  a  neighboring 
eminence ;  we  soon  gained  the  bank,  where  we 
found  the  two  Indians,  with  four  canoes,  and  a 
ground  squirrel ;  a  fire  was  built,  and  some  food 
put  in  preparation.  Here  my  feelings,  which  had 
not  been  exhilerated  so  much  as  the  rest  of  my 
fellow-prisoners,  were  buoyed  above  despair,  and, 
for  a  short  time,  the  pangs  of  distress  lost  their 
influence.  The  life,  which  nine  days  painful  suf- 
fering in  the  wilderness  had  brought  to  its  last 
moment  of  duration,  now  started  intQ  new  exis- 
tence, itnd  rendered  the  hour  I  sat  on  the  shore  of 
Lake  Champlain  one  of  the  happiest  I  ever  ex- 
perienced. Here  we  were  to  take  passage  in 
boats,  and  find  relief  from  the  thorny  hills  and 
miry  swamps  of  the  damp  desart.  My  husband 
could  now  be  relieved  from  the  burden  which  had 
brought  him  as  nigh  eternity  as  mi'^s'^lf.  My  little 
children  would  soon  find  clothing,  and  all  my 
fellow-sufibrers  would  be  in  a  condition  to  attain 
some  of  life's  conveniences.  Twelve  hours'  sail- 
ing would  waft  us  to  the  settlement  of  civihzed 
Frenchmen.  Considering  how  much  we  had  en- 
dured, few  will  deem  it  less  than  a  miracle,  that 
we  were  still  among  the  living.  My  son,  of  six 
years  old,  had  walked  barefoot  the  whole  journey  c 


m 


M 


42 


Farnsworth  was  shoeless,  and  carried  my  eldest 
daughter.  Labarree  had  to  carry  and  preserve  the 
life  of  my  infant.  My  sister,  owing  to  her  youth 
and  health,  had  suffered  the  least.  My  two  little 
daughters,  with  only  their  shifts,  and  part  of  one  of 
the  three  gowns  which  the  savage  gave  me,  were 
subject  to  all  the  damps  of  morn  and  night ;  and 
Mr.  Johnson's  situation  was  pitiably  painful ;  the 
fatigue  of  carrying  me  on  the  wearying  packsaddle 
had  rendered  his  emaciated  body  almost  a  corpse, 
and  his  sore  feet  made  him  a  cripple.  The  Indians 
had  been  surprisingly  patient,  and  often  discovered 
tokens  of  humanity.  At  every  meal  we  all  shared 
equal  with  them,  whether  a  horse  or  duck  compos- 
ed the  bill  of  fare,  and  more  than  once  they  gave 
me  a  blanket,  to  shelter  me  from  a  thunderstorm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


*: 


Crossing  the  Lake  to  Croivn  Point,  from  thence  to 
St.  John's^  Chamblee,  and  to  St.  Francis  Village^ 

I  WILL  not  detain  the  reader  but  a  few  mo- 
ments longer  in  this  place,  while  I  eat  the  leg  of 
a  woodchuck,  and  then  request  him.  to  take  a 
night's  sailing  in  the  canoe  with  me  across  the 
lake;  though  I  sincerely  wish  him  a  better  passage 
than  I  had.  No  sooner  was  our  repast  finished, 
than  the  party  were  divided  into  four  equal  parties, 
for  passage.  In  my  boat  were  two  savages,  be- 
sides my  son  and  infani:.  I  was  ordered  to  lie  flat 
on  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  and,  when  pain 
obliged  me  to  move  for  relief,  I  had  a  rap  from  a 


43 


i 


paddle.  At  daybreak  we  arrived  at  a  great  rock, 
on  the  west  side  of  the  lake,  where  we  stopped 
and  built  a  fire.  The  Indians  went  to  a  French 
house  not  far  distant,  and  got  some  meat,  bread, 
and  green  corn.  Although  we  were  not  allowed 
to  taste  the  meat,  yet,  by  the  grateful  effluvia  of 
the  broiling  steak,  we  were  finely  regaled,  and 
the  bread  and  roast  corn  were  a  luxury. 

Here  the  savages,  for  the  first  time,  gave  loud 
tokens  of  joy,  by  hallooing  and  yelling  in  a  tre- 
mendous manner.  The  prisoners  were  now  intro- 
duced to  a  new  school.  Little  did  we  expect  that 
the  accomplishment  of  dancing  would  ever  be 
taught  us  by  the  savages.  But  the  war-dance  must 
now  be  held,  and  every  prisoner  that  could  move 
must  take  its  awkward  steps.  The  figure  consist- 
ed of  circular  motion  round  the  fire;  each  sang' 
his  own  music,  and  the  best  dancer. was  the  one 
most  violent  in  motion.  The  prisoners  were 
taught  each  a  song ;  nfiine  was,  '  Danna  witchee 
natchepung.'  My  son's  was,  *  Nar  wiscumpton.' 
The  rest  I  cannot  recollect.  Whether  this  task 
was  imposed  on  us  for  their  diversion,  or  a  reli- 
gious ceremonial,  I  cannot  say,  but  it  was  very 
painful  and  offensive.  In  the  forenoon,  seven  In- 
dians came  to  us,  who  were  received  with  great 
joy  by  our  masters,  who  took  great  pleasure  in  in- 
troducing their  prisoners.  The  war-dance  was 
again  held ;  we  were  obliged  to  join  and  sing  our 
songs,  while  the  Indians  rent  the  air  with  infernal 
yelling.  We  then  embarked,  and  arrived  at  Crown 
Point  about  noon.  Each  prisoner  was  then  led  by 
his  master  to  the  residence  of  the  French  comman- 
der. The  Indians  kept  up  their  infernal  yelling 
the  whole  time.  We  were  ordered  to  his  apart- 
3* 


44 


tnent,  and  used  with  that  hospitality  which  charac- 
terizes the  best  part  of  the  nation.  We  had 
brandy  in  profusion,  a  good  dinner,  and  a  change 
of  linen.  This  was  luxury  indeed,  after  we  had 
suffered  for  the  want  of  these  things.  None  but 
ourselves  could  prize  their  vidue.  We  after  din- 
ner were  paraded  before  Mr.  Commander,  and 
underwent  examination,  after  which  we  were 
shown  a  convenient  apartment,  where  we  resided 
four  days,  not  subject  to  the  jurisdiction  of  our 
savage  masters.  Here  we  received  great  civilities, 
and  many  presents.  I  had  a  nurse,  who  in  a  great 
measure  restored  my  exhausted  strength.  My 
children  wore  all  decently  clothed,  and  my  infant 
in  particular.  The  first  day,  while  I  was  taking  a 
nap,  they  dressed  it  so  fantastically,  a-la-France, 
I  refused  to  own  it,  when  brought  to  my  bedside, 
not  guessing  that  I  was  the  mother  of  such  a 
strange  thing. 

On  the  fourth  day,  to  our  great  grief  and  morti- 
fication, we  were  again  delivered  to  the  Indians, 
who  led  us  to  the  water  side,  where  we  all  em- 
barked in  one  vessel  for  St.  John's.  The  wind 
shifted,  after  a  short  sail,  and  we  dropped  anchor. 
In  a  little  time,  a  canoe  came  along  side  of  us,  in 
which  was  a  white  woman,  who  was  bound  for 
Albany.  Mr.  Johnson  begged  her  to  stop  a  few 
minutes,  while  he  wrote  to  Col.  Lydius,  of  Albany, 
to  inforni4iim  of  our  situation,  and  to  request  him 
to  put  the  same  in  the  Boston  newspapers,  that 
our  friends  might  learn  that  we  were  alive.  The 
woman  delivered  the  letter,  and  the  contents  were 
published,  which  conveyed  the  agreeable  tidings 
to  our  friends,  that,  although  prisoners,  we  were 
then  alive. 


Th 
sent  t 

New 

Sir 

a  lett 

ward< 

in  wh 

proci 

conv€ 

la 

and 

tienc" 

his  re 

misfd 

ers  \i 

be  yc 

Li 

Af 

mad< 

agaii 

man 

the 

mori 

at  oi 

sava 

boat 

whit 

mas 

our 

frie 

whe 

wal 


45 


The  following  letter,  in  return  for  the  one  we 
sent  to  Col.  Lydius,  was  the  first  we  received  from 
New  England : — 

-  Albany y  Nov.  5,  1754. 

Sir  : — I  received  yours  of  the  5th  October,  with 
a  letter  or  two  for  New  England,  which  I  for- 
warded immediately,  and  have  wrote  to  Boston, 
in  which  I  urged  the  government  to  endeavor  to 
procure  your  and  family's  redemption,  as  soon  as 
conveniency  would  admit. 

I  am  quite  sorry  for  your  doleful  misfortune, 
and  hope  the  just  God  will  endue  you  with  pa- 
tience to  undergo  your  troubles,  and  justly  use 
his  rewards  on  the  evil  doers  and  authors  of  your 
misfortune.  Present  my  service  to  all  the  prison- 
ers with  you,  from  him  who  subscribes  himself  to 
be  your  very  humble  servant, 

John  W  Lydius. 

Lieut.  James  Johnson,  Montreal. 

After  a  disagreeable  voyage  of  three  days,  we 
made  St.  John's,  the  16th  of  September,  where  we 
again  experienced  the  politeness  bf  a  French  com- 
mander. I,  with  my  child,  was  kindly  lodged  in 
the  same  room  with  himself  and  lady.  In  the 
morning  we  still  found  misfortune  treading  close 
at  our  heels  ;  we  must  again  be  delivered  to  our 
savage  masters,  and  take  another  passage  in  the 
boats  f(^r  Chamblee,  when,  within  three  miles  of- 
which,  Labarree,  myself,  and  child,  with  our  two 
masters,  were  put  on  shore  ;  we  were  ignorant  of 
our  destiny,  and  parting  from  my  husband  and 
friends  was  a  severe  trial,  without  knowing 
whether  we  were  ever  to  meet  them  again.  We 
walked  on  to  Chamblee  ;  here  our  fears  were  dis- 


v« 


46 


sipated,  by  meeting  our  friends.  In  the  garrison 
of  this  place,  we  found  all  the  hospitality  our  ne-» 
cessitics  required.  Here,  for  the  tirst  time  aftei' 
my  captivity,  I  lodged  on  a  bed.  Brandy  was 
handed  about  in  large  bowls,  and  we  lived  in  high 
style.  The  next  morning  we  were  put  in  the  cus- 
tody of  our  old  masters,  who  took  us  to  the  canoes, 
in  which  we  had  a  painful  voy  ge  that  day,  and 
the  ibllowing  night,  to  Sorei',  here  we  arrived 
on  the  19th.  A  hospitable  friar  came  to  the  shore 
to  see  us,  and  invited  us  to  his  house  ;  he  gave  us 
a  good  breakfast,  and  drank  our  better  healths  in 
a  tumbler  of  brandy ;  he  took  compassionate  notice 
of  my  child,  and  ordered  it  some  suitable  food* 
But  the  Indians  hurried  us  off  before  it  could  eat* 
He  then  went  with  us  to  the  shore,  and  ordered 
his  servant  to  carry  the  food,  prepared  for  the  child, 
to  the  canoe,  where  he  waited  till  I  fed  it.  The 
friar  was  a  genteel  man,  and  gave  us  his  benedic- 
tion, at  parting,  in  feeling  language.  We  then 
rowed  on  till  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when 
we  landed  on  a  barren  heath,  and,  by  the  help  of 
a  fire,  cooked  an  Indian  dinner  ;  after  which,  the 
war-dance  was  held,  and  another  infernal  yelling. 
The  prisoners  were  obliged  to  sing  till  they  were 
hoarse,  and  dance  round  the  fire. 

We  had  now  arrived  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
village  of  St.  Francis,  to  whicli  place  our  masters 
belonged.  Whenever  the  warriors  return  from 
an  excursion  against  an  enemy,  their  return  to  the 
tribe  or  village  must  be  designated  by  warlike  cer* 
^rttonial ;  the  captives  or  spoil,  which  m^y  hap-* 
pen  to  crown  their  valor,  must  be  conducted  in  a 
triumphant  form,  and  decorated  to  every  possible 
advantage.     For  this  end,  \ve  must  now  submit  to 


St. 


arrisbil 
ur  ne-' 
e  aftei' 
ly  was 
in  high 
he  cus- 
[canoes^ 
y,  and 
arrived 
e  shore 
ave  us 
Jths  in 
notice 
e  food* 
I  Id  eat, 
"H'dered 
e  child, 
;.     The 
cnedic- 
e  then 
,  wlien 
^leJp  of 
eh,  the 

V  were 

of  the 
masters 
1  from 
to  tlie 
se  cer* 
'  hap-^ 
I  in  a 
>ssible 
tnit  to 


47 


painting :  their  vermillion,  with  which  they  were 
ever  supplied,  was  mixed  with  bearVgrease,  and 
every  cheek,  chin,  and  forehead,  must  have  a  dash. 
We  then  rowed  on  within  a  mile  of  the  town, 
where  we  stopped  at  a  French  house,  to  dine  ; 
the  prisoners  were  served  with  soup  meagre  and 
bread.  After  dinner,  two  savages  proceeded  to 
the  village,  to  carry  the  glad  tidingsof  our  arrival. 
The  whole  atmosphere  soon  resounded  from  e\ery 
quarter,  with  whoops,  yells,  shrinks,  and  screams. 
St.  Francis,  from  the  noise  that  came  from  it, 
cnight  be  supposed  the  centre  of  Pandemonium. 
Our  masters  were  not  backward ;  they  made  every 
response  they  possibly  could.  The  whole  time  we 
were  sailing  from  the  French  house,  the  noise  was 
direful  to  be  heard.  Two  hours  before  sunset  we 
came  to  the  landing  at  the  village.  No  sooner 
had  we  landed,  than  the  yelling  in  the  town  was 
redoubled.  A  cloud  of  savages,  of  all  sizes  and 
sexes,  soon  appeared  running  towards  us ;  wlien 
they  reached  the  boats,  they  formed  themselves 
into  a  long  parade,  leaving  a  small  space,  through 
which  we  must  pass.  Each  Indian  then  took  his 
prisoner  by  his  hand,  and,  after  ordering  him  to  sing 
the  war-song,  began  to  march  through  the  gaunt- 
let. We  expected  a  severe  beating,  before  we  got 
through,  but  were  agreeably  disappointed,  when 
we  found  that  each  Indian  only  gave  us  a  tap  on 
the  shoulder.  We  were  led  directly  to  the  houses, 
each  taking  his  prisoner  to  his  own  wigwam. 
When  I  entered  my  master'r  door,  his  brother  sa- 
luted me  with  a  large  belt  of  wampum,  and  my 
master  present ^il  me  with  another.  Both  were 
put  over  my  shoulders,  and  crossed  behind  and  be- 
fore.   My  new  home  was  not  the  most  agreeable ; 


m 


48 


I* 


a  large  wigwam,  without  a  floor,  with  a  fire  in  the 
centre,  and  only  a  few  water-vessels  and  dishes, 
to  eat  from,  made  of  burch  bark,  and  tools  for 
cookery,  made  clumsily  of  wood,  for  furniture, 
will  not  be  thought  a  pleasing  residence  to  one 
accustomed  to  civilized  life. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Residence  at  St.  Francis,     Sale  of  most  of  the  Pri" 
soners  to  the  French,  and  Removal  to  Montreal. 

Night  presently  came,  after  our  arrival  at  St.  ' 
Francis.  Those  who  have  felt  the  gloomy,  home- 
sick feelings,  which  sadden  those  hours  which  a 
youth  passes,  when  first  from  a  father's  house, 
may  judge  of  part  of  my  sufferings ;  but,  wher* 
the  rest  of  my  circumstances  are  added,  their  con- 
ception must  fall  infinitely  short.  I  now  found 
myself  with  my  infant,  in  a  large  wigwam,  ac- 
compahied  with  two  or  three  warriors,  and  as 
many  squaws,  where  I  must  spend  the  night,  and 
perhaps  a  year.  My  fellow-prisoners  were  dis- 
persed over  the  town — each  one,  probably,  feel- 
ing the  same  gloominess  with  myself.  Hasty- 
pudding  presently  was  brought  forward  for  sup- 
per. A  spacious  bowl  of  wood,  well  filled,  was 
placed  in  a  central  spot,  and  each  one  drew  near 
with  a  wooden  spoon.  As  the  Indians  never  use 
seats,  nor  have  any  in  their  wigwams,  my  awk- 
wardness in  taking  my  position  was  a  matter  of 
no  small  amusement  to  my  new  companions.  The 
squaws  first  fall  upon  their  knees,  and  then  sit 


back  l^ 
could 
thouglj 
advanj 
could" 
remar| 
it  woi 
beds  VI 
half  a 
blank< 
threw 
buildi 
in  a  s 
•  morn 
,,  the  la 
foren< 
tions 
parel 
infani 
found 
an  a| 
after 
in  p 
His 
fiion 
brea 
reve 
little 
part 
It  n 
ded 
a  hi 
exc 
gre 
equ 


49 


one 


back  upon  their  heels.  This  was  a  posture  that  I 
could  not  imitate.  To  sit  in  any  other  was 
thought  by  them  indelicate  and  unpolite.  But  I 
advanced  to  my  pudding  with  the  best  grace  I 
could — not,  however,  escaping  some  of  their  funny 
remarks.  When  the  hour  for  sleep  came  on,  for 
it  would  be  improper  to  call  it  bedtime,  where 
beds  were  not,  I  was  pointed  to  a  platform,  raised 
half  a  yard,  where,  upon  a  board  covered  with  a 
blanket,  I  was  to  pass  the  night.  The  Indians 
threw  themselves  down  in  various  parts  of  the 
building,  in  a  manner  that  more  resembled  cows 
in  a  shed,  than  human  beings  in  a  house.  In  the 
morning,  our  breakfast  consisted  of  the  relics 'of 
,  the  last  night ;  my  sister  came  to  see  me  in  the 
forenoon,  and  we  spent  some  hours  in  observa- 
tions upon  our  situation,  while  washing  some  ap- 
parel at  a  brook.  In  the  afternoon,  I,  with  my 
infant,  was  taken  to  the  grand  parade,  where  we 
found  a  large  collection  of  the  village  inhabitants; 
an  aged  chief  stepped  forward  into  an  area,  and, 
after  every  noise  was  silenced,  and  every  one  fixed 
in  profound  attention,  he  began  to  harrangue. 
His  manner  was  solemn  ;  his  motions  and  expres- 
sion gave  me  a  perfect  idea  of  an  orator.  Not  a 
breath  was  heard,  and  every  spectator  seemed  to 
reverence  what  he  said.  After  the  speech,  my 
little  son  was  brought  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
parade,  and  a  number  of  blankets  laid  by  his  side. 
It  now  appeared  that  his  master  and  mine  inten- 
ded an  exchange  of  prisoners.  My  master  being 
a  hunter,  wished  for  my  son,  to  attend  him  on  his 
excursions.  Each  delivered  his  property  with 
great  formality — my  son  and  blankets  being[  an 
equivalent  for  myself,  child,  and  wampum,  I  was 
3t 


60 


t 


taken  to  the  house  of  my  new  master,  and  found 
myself  allied  to  the  first  family ;  my  master, 
whose  name  was  Gill,  was  son-in-law  to  the  grand 
sachem,  was  accounted  rich,  had  a  store  of  goods, 
and  lived  in  a  style  far  ahove  the  majority  of  his 
tribe.  He  often  told  mc  that  he  had  an  English 
heart,  but  his  wife  was  true  Indian  blood.  Soon 
after  my  arrival  at^  his  house,  the  interpreter 
came  to  inform  me  that  I  was  adopted  into  his 
family.  I  was  then  introduced  to  the  family, 
and  was  told  to  call  them  brothers  and  sisters.  I 
made  a  short  reply,  expresjiive  of  gratitude,  for 
being  introduced  to  a  house  of  high  rank,  and  re- 
quested their  patience  while  I  should  learn  the 
customs  of  the  nation.  This  was  scarce  over, 
when  the  attention  of  the  village  was  called  to  the 
grand  parade,  to  attend  a  rejoicing,  occasioned  by 
the  arrival  of  some  warriors,  who  had  brought 
some  scalps.  They  were  carried  in  triumph  on  a 
pole.  Savage  butchery  upon  murdered  country- 
men !  The  sight  was  horrid.  As  I  retired  to  my 
new  residen^.e,  I  could  hear  the  savage  yells  that 
accompanied  the  war-dance.  I  spent  the  night  in 
sad  reflection. 

My  time  now  was  solitary  beyond  description ; 
my  new  sisters  and  brothers  treated  me  with  the 
same  attention  that  they  did  their  natural  kindred, 
but  it  was  an  unnatural  situation  to  me.  I  was  a 
novice  at  making  canoes,  bunks,  and  tumplines, 
which  was  the  only  occupation  of  the  squaws ;  of 
course,  idleness  was  among  my  calmities.  My 
fellow-prisoners  were  as  gloomy  as  myself — igno- 
rant whether  they  were  to  spend  their  days  in  this 
inactive  village,  '>'•  be  carried  into  a  war  campaign, 
to  slaughter  their  countrymen,  or  to  be  dragged 


to  the 

We  vis 

conjee 

the 

since  ] 

to  giv< 

occuri 

cibly  i 

partic 

faint  1 

days  \ 

to  be 

ree,  m 

diffen 

maste 

tive  ii 

was  r 

an  ini 

infani 

relief 

upon 

nigh 

who  I 

came 

tears 

carr] 

lyto 

to  pi 

me, 

keep 

hanc 

hear 

.    Ishi 

panj 


51 


found 
master, 
e  grand 
goods, 
of  his 
|Engllsh 
Soon 
rpreter 
|into  his 
family, 
ters.     I 
ide,  for 
and  re- 
irn  the 
e  over, 
d  to  the 
3ned  by 
brought 
ph  on  a 
ountry- 
J  to  nay 
lis  that 
light  in 

iption ; 
ith  the 
indred, 
was  a 
plines, 
ivs;  of 
I.  My 
-igno- 
in  this 
paign, 
agged 


( 


to  the  cold  lakes  of  the  north,  in  a  hunting  voyage. 
We  visited  each  other  daily,  and  spent  our  time  in 
conjecturing  our  future  destiny. 

The  space  of  forty-two  years  having  elapsed, 
since  my  residence  in  St.  Francis,  it  is  impossible 
to  give  the  reader  a  minute  detail  of  events  that 
occurred  while  there  ;  many  of  them  are  still  for- 
cibly impressed  upon  my  memory,  but  dates  and 
particulars  are  now  inaccurately  treasured  up  by 
faint  recollection.  Mr.  Johnson  tarried  but  a  few 
days  with  me,  before  he  was  carried  to  Montreal, 
to  be  sold.  My  two  daughters,  sister,  and  Labar- 
ree,  were  soon  after  carried  to  the  same  place,  at 
different  times.  Farnsworth  was  carried  by  his 
master  on  a  hunting  scout,  but,  not  proving  so  ac- 
tive in  the  chase  and  ambush  as  they  wished,  he 
was  returned  and  sent  to  Montreal.  I  now  found 
an  increase  to  my  trouble :  with  only  my  son  and 
infant,  in  this  strange  land,  without  a  prospect  of 
relief,  and  with  all  my  former  trouble  lying  heavy 
upon  me,  disappointment  and  despair  came  well 
nigh  being  my  executioners.  In  this  dilemma^ 
who  can  imagine  my  distress,  when  my  little  son 
came  running  to  me  one  morning,  swollen  with 
tears,  exclaiming,  that  the  Indians  were  going  to 
carry  him  into  the  woods  to  hunt ;  he  had  scarce- 
ly told  the  piteous  story,  before  his  master  came 
to  pull  him  away ;  he  threw  his  little  arms  around 
me,  begging,  in  the  agony  of  grief,  that  I  would 
keep  him.  The  inexorable  savage  unclenched  his 
hands,  and  forced  him  away ;  the  last  words  I 
heard,  intermingled  with  his  cries,  were,  *  Ma'am, 
I  shall  never  see  you  again.'  The  keenness  of  my 
pangs  almost  obliged  me  to  wish  that  I  never  had 


f 


52 


been   a  mother.     *  Farewell,   Sylvanus,'  said  I ; 
*  God  will  preserve  you.' 

It  was  now  the  15th  of  October.  Forty-five 
i3ays  had  passed  since  my  captivity,  and  no  pros- 
pect but  what  was  darkened  with  clouds  of  mis- 
fortune. The  uneasiness  occasioned  by  indolence 
was  in  some  measure  relieved,  by  the  privilege  of 
making  shirts  for  my  brother.  At  night  and  morn 
I  was  allowed  to  milk  the  cows.  The  rest  of  the 
time  I  strolled  gloomily  about,  looking  sometimes 
into  an  unsociable  wigwam,  at  others  sauntering 
into  the  bushes,  and  walking  on  the  banks  of 
brookso  Once  I  went  to  a  French  house,  three 
miles  distant,  to  visit  some  friends  of  my  brother's 
family,  where  I  was  entertained  politely  a  week : 
at  another  time,  I  went  with  a  party  to  fish,  ac- 
companied by  a  number  of  squaws.  My  weak- 
ness obliged  me  to  rest  often,  which  gave  my  com- 
panions a  poor  opinion  of  me  ;  but  they  showed 
no  other  resentment,  than  calling  me  *  no  good 
squaw,'  which  was  the  only  reproach  my  sister 
ever  gave,  when  I  displeased  her.  All  the  French 
inhabitants  I  formed  an  acquaintance  with,  treat- 
ed me  with  that  civility  which  distinguishes  the 
nation  ;  once  in  particular,  being  almost  distract- 
ed with  an  aching  tooth,  I  was  carried  to  a  French 
physician,  across  the  river,  for  relief.  They  pre- 
vailed on  the  Indians  to  let  me  visit  them  a  dav  or 
two,  during  which  time,  their  marked  attention 
and  generosity  claims  my  warmest  gratitude. 
At  parting,  they  expressed  their  earnest  wishes  to 
have  me  visit  them  again. 

St.  Francis   contained   about  thirty  wigwams, 
which    were    thrown  disorderly    into   a  clump, 


There 

every  i 

hearers 

was  pr 

by  aF 

for  the 

be  in  t 

civil  g 

ecutiv 

ny,  t 

They 

and  n 

treme 

courts 

callec 

their 

Perhi 

tive ; 

great 

tions 

hous 

I  far 

ions 

cow 

chil 

amv 

arrc 

I 

wrc 

the 

he 

clo 

hrc 

in  1 

Pel 


63 


mid  I ; 

rtj.five 
\o  prQs- 
|of  mis- 
lolence 
ilege  of 
|d  morn 
of  the 
etimes 
ntering" 
nks  of 
»  three 
other's 
week : 

sh,  ac- 
weak- 

y  com- 

ihowed 

)  good 
sister 

^rench 
treat- 

3s  the 

stract- 

rench 

^  pre-i 

lav  or 

ntion 

tude, 

les  to 

ams, 
wnp, 


i 

i 
j 


There  was  a  church,  in  which  mass  was  held 
every  night  and  morning,  and  every  Sunday  the 
hearers  were  summoned  by  a  bell,  and  attendance 
was  pretty  general.  Ceremonies  were  performed 
by  a  French  friar,  who  lived  in  the  midst  of  them, 
for  the  salvation  of  their  souls.  He  appeared  to 
be  in  that  place,  what  the  legislative  branch  is  in 
civil  governments,  and  the  grand  sachem  the  ex- 
ecutive. The  inhabitants  lived  in  perfect  harmo- 
ny, and  had  most  of  their  property  in  common. 
They  were  prone  to  indolence  when  at  peace, 
and  not  remarkable  for  neatness.  They  were  ex- 
tremely modest,  and  apparently  averse  to  airs  of 
courtship.  Necessity  was  the  only  thing  that 
called  them  to  action ;  this  induced  them  to  plant 
their  corn,  and  to  undergo  the  fatigues  of  hunting. 
Perhaps  I  am  wrong  to  call  necessity  the  only  mo- 
tive ;  revenge,  which  prompts  them  to  war,  has 
great  power.  I  had  a  numerous  retinue  of  rela- 
tions, whom  I  visited  daily;  but  my  brother's 
house  being  one  of  the  most  decent  in  the  village, 
I  fared  full  as  well  at  home.  Among  my  connex- 
ions was  a  little  brother  Sabatis,  who  brought  the 
cows  for  me,  and  took  particular  notice  of  my 
child.  He  was  a  sprightly  little  fellow,  and  often 
amused  me  with  feats  performed  with  his  bow  and 
arrow. 

In  the  early  part  of  November,  Mr.  Johnson 
wrote  from  Montreal,  requesting  me  to  prevail  on 
the  Indians  to  carry  me  to  Montreal  for  sale,  as 
he  had  made  provision  for  that  purpose.  I  dis- 
closed the  matter,  which  was  agreed  to  by  my 
brother  and  sister,  and  on  the  seventh  we  set  sail 
in  a  little  bark  canoe.  While  crossing  Lake  St. 
Peters^  we  came  nigh  landing  on  the  shores  of 


54 


eternity.  The  waves  were  raised  to  an  enormous 
height  by  the  wind,  and  often  broke  over  the  ca- 
noe. My  brother  and  sister  were  pale  as  ghosts, 
and  we  all  expected  immediate  destruction ;  but 
the  arm  of  salvation  was  extended  for  our  relief, 
and  we  reached  the  shore.  We  were  four  days 
in  this  voyage,  and  received  obliging  civilities 
every  night,  at  French  settlements ;  on  the  elev- 
enth, we  arrived  at  Montreal,  where  I  had  the  su- 
preme satisfaction  of  meeting  my  husband,  chil- 
dren, and  friends.  Here  I  had  the  happiness  to 
find,  that  all  my  fellow-prisoners  had  been  pur- 
chased by  persons  of  respectability,  by  whom  they 
were  treated  with  humanity  ;  and  all  except  Pol- 
ly, of  whom  I  shall  say  something  further,  I  be- 
lieve were  used  very  well. 

Mr,  Du  Quesne  bought  my  sister,  my  eldest 
daughter  was  owned  by  three  affluent  old  maids, 
by  the  name  of  Jaisson,  and  the  other,  to  wit, 
Polly,  was  owned  by  the  mayor  of  the  city.  The 
mayor's  lady  had  her  kept  out  at  boarding  and 
nursing.  I  had  information  that  the  child  was 
not  well  used — that  no  proper  care  was  taken  of 
her.  I  set  off  with  a  determination  to  find  her, 
which  I  did,  and  on  finding  her,  I  found  the  in- 
telligence whicix  I  had  received  but  too  true.  To 
see  my  child  in  so  miserable  a  plight,  gave  my 
mind  much  trouble.  I  informed  those  where  she 
was  kept,  that  I  could  not  think  of  having  her 
kept  in  such  a  manner,  and  should  endeavor  to 
have  her  taken  away,  and  put  where  she  might 
have  better  care  taken  of  her.  I  went  not  long 
after  to  see  her  again,  but  was  forbid  to  see  her, 
by  ord  "^r  of  the  mayor's  lady.  I  thought  it  very 
liard  tLdt  I  could  not  be  suffered  to  see  my  un- 


happy 
get  h( 
I  imm 
lady, 
even  a 
when 
the  fe 
for  lib 
with 
poor 
want 
fruitle 
enoug 
she  sV 
with  \ 
her  c 
of  hei 
or  ne 
child, 
pover 
love  8 
mine, 
soner 
exchj 
woul( 
her  t 
matt< 
what 

my  \ 
privi 
mucl 
she  s 
favo] 
rath< 
hope 


pur- 
they 
Pol- 
'  be- 


55 


happy  child,  and  was  determined,  if  possible,  to 
get  her  away.  On  my  returning  to  my  lodging, 
I  immediately  went  with  an  interpreter  to  see  the 
lady.  It  was  with  much  difficulty  that  I  could 
even  get  admittance,  so  as  to  speak  to  her ;  l/Ut, 
when  I  did,  I  collected  all  my  fortitude,  and,  in 
the  feeling  language  of  a  mother,  made  my  suit 
for  liberty  to  visit  my  child.  But  I  was  denied 
with  a  frown !  The  lady  could  not  see  why  a 
poor  woman,  and  a  prisoner,  as  I  was,  should 
want  to  torment  herself  and  child  with  such 
fruitless  visits  !  She  said  that  the  child  was  well 
enough  off,  and,  when  it  arrived  at  a  suitable  age, 
she  should  see  to  it  herself!  But  I  expostulated 
with  her,  by  the  interpreter,  upbraided  her  with 
her  cruelty  and  hardheartedness,  and  the  vanity 
of  her  thinking,  because  I  was  poor,  I  bad  not, 
or  need  not  have,  any  love  or  concern  for  my 
child.  I  requested  her  to  think  as  a  mother,  that 
poverty  did  not,  nor  could  it  ever,  erase  parental 
love  and  affection.  I  told  her  that  the  child  was 
mine,  and  she  had  no  right  to  it.  We  were  pri- 
soners, it  was  true,  but  1  expected  we  should  be 
exchanged,  when  I  expected  that  I  and  my  children 
would  return  to  our  native  country.  I  conjured 
her  to  think  of  me  on  her  pillow,  and  realize  the 
matter,  by  making  my  case  hers,  and  coiisider 
what  torture  1  must  be  in,  while,  in  addition  to 
my  being  a  poor  prisoner,  1  was  deprived  of  the 
privilege  of  seeing  my  poor,  unhappy  child.  And 
much  more  I  said  to  her,  to  this  effect,  to  which 
she  seemed  to  pay  some  attention,  but  gave  me  no 
favorable  answer.  I  returned  to  my  lodging 
rather  sad  and  gloomy,  though  not  entirely  out  of 
hopes,  but  what  I  should  finally  meet  with  8uc- 
•  -4 


if 


56 


ces8 ;  for  I  thought  that  the  lady  (and  a  lady  in- 


must 


sense 


deed  she  appeared 
of  humanity,  or  else  I  must  have  wrougiht  a  little 
upon  her  feelings,  which  was  my  object  to  do. 
And  in  this  I  was  not  disappointed ;  for  the  next 
day  she  sent  her  servant  to  the  interpreter,  for  to 
inform  me  that  I  might  see  my  child,  and  do  with 
it  according  to  my  wishes.  *  Tell  that  English 
woman,' said  she, ^ I  could  not  sleep  last  night; 
her  observations  broke  my  heart !  She  may  have 
her  child !  I  cannot  withhold  it  from  her  any 
longer ! '  And  she  was  as  good  as  her  word ;  for 
she  furnished  clothing,  and  I  had  my  dear  little 
child  to  myself,  and  had  several  presents  with  it 
from  the  lady,  and  she  asked  nothing  for  all  her 
trouble. 

I  would  remark  here,  that  it  was  fashionable, 
among  the  higher  class  of  people  in  Canada,  to 
have  their  own  children  nursed  out  till  they  were 
about  three  or  four  years  old.  They  are  dressed 
neat  and  clean  about  once  a  month,  and  carried 
to  their  parents,  by  the  servant,  to  visit.  The 
other  part  of  the  time  they  are  not  kept  in  so 
clean  a  manner,  by  their  nurses,  as  the  English 
people  generally  are.  And  perhaps  mine  was 
more  neglected  for  being  a  poor  prisoner's  child. 
I  also  learned  that  the  mayor's  lady  wished  vety 
much  to  have  my  child  again  for  her  own,  as  she 
had  had  but  only  one  daughter,  who  had  died  just 
before,  aged  15  years. 

But  to  return  again  to  my  narrative.  Mr. 
Johnson  had  obtained  the  privilege  of  two  months' 
absence  on  parole,  for  the  purpose  of  going  to 
New  England,  to  procure  cash  for  the  redemption 
of  his  family.     He  sat  out  on  his  journey  the  day 


\y  in- 

jense 

llittle 

do. 

next 
for  to 

with 
iglish 
iight ; 

have 

•  any 

;  for 

little 

ith  it 

1  her 

lable, 
Ida,  to 

were 
•essed 
irried 

The 
in  so 
iglish 
I  was 
child. 

vety 
3  she 
cl  just 

Mr. 

nths' 

ig  to 

ption 

day 


57 


afler  my  arrival  at  Montreal.  Mr.  Du  Quesne 
engaged  to  supply  his  family  with  necessaries 
during  his  absence,  and  was  to  be  recompensed 
at  his  return.  Directly  after  his  departure,  I 
found  myself  doomed  to  fresh  trouble.  The  In- 
dians brought  me  here  for  the  purpose  of  exchang- 
ing me  for  some  Micanaw  savages,  a  tribe  with 
whom  they  were  at  war ;  but,  being  disappointed 
in  this,  they  were  exorbitant  in  their  demands, 
and  refused  to  take  less  than  a  thousand  livres  for 
me  and  my  child.  Mr.  Du  Quesne  fixed  his  offer 
at  seven  hundred,  which  was  utterly  refused  by 
my  savage  masters.  Their  next  step  was  to 
threaten  to  carry  me  back  to  St.  Francis.  After 
half  a  day's  surly  deliberation,  they  concluded  to 
take  the  offered  sum.  I  was  received  into  Mr. 
Du  Quesne's  family.  My  joy  at  being  delivered 
from  savage  captivity  was  unbounded.  From 
this  period,  Indians  and  sufferings -were  no  more 
to  torture  me  or  my  family,  except  the  unfortu- 
nate Sylvanus.  The  fond  idea  of  liberty  held 
forth  its  dazzling  pleasures,  and  the  ignorance  of 
future  calamities  precluded  every  cloud  that  could 
obscure  its  effulgence.  On  Mr.  Johnson's  jour- 
ney to  New  England,  I  rested  all  my  hope,  and 
felt  full  confidence  in  being  relieved  at  his  re- 
turn. 

In  justice  to  the  Indians,  I  ought  to  remark,  that 
they  never  treated  me  with  cruelty  to  a  wanton 
degree.  Few  people  have  survived  a  situation 
like  mine,  and  few  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
savages  disposed  to  more  lenity  and  patience. 
Modesty  has  ever  been  a  characteristic  of  every 
savage  tribe — a  truth  which  my  whole  family  will 
join  to  corroborate,  to  the  extent  of  their  know- 


% 


il 


m 


58 


ledge.  As  they  are  aptly  called  the  children  of 
nature,  those  who  have  profited  by  refinement  and 
education  ouiifht  to  abate  part  of  the  prejudice, 
which  prompts  them  to  look  with  an  eye  of  censure 
on  this  untutored  race.  Can  it  be  said  of  civilized 
conquerors,  that  they,  in  the  main,  are  willing  to 
share  with  their  prisoners  the  last  ration  of  food, 
when  famine  stares  them  in  the  face  1  Do  they 
ever  adopt  an  enemy,  and  salute  him  by  the  tender 
name  of  brother  ?  And  I  am  justified  in  doubting, 
whether,  if  I  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  French 
soldiery,  so  much  assiduity  would  have  been  shown 
to  preserve  my  life. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Mr.  Johnson's  Tour  to  Boston  and  Portsmouth,  and 
the  Catastrophe  at  his  return.  Arrival  at  the 
Prison  in  Quebec, 

The  reader  will  leave  me  and  my  family  under 
the  care  of  our  factor  a  short  time,  and  proceed 
with  Mr.  Johnson.  On  the  12th  of  November,  he 
sat  out  for  Albany,  accompanied  by  two  Indians 
fdr  pilots,  for  whose  fidelity  the  commander-in- 
chief  was  responsible.  They  were  to  tarry  at 
Albany  till  his  return.  In  a  short  time  I  had  a 
letter  from  Col.  Lydius,  informing  me  that  he  had 
safely  arrived  at  Albany,  and  had  gone  to  Boston. 
His  first  step  was  to  apply  to  Governer  Shirley 
for  money,  to  redeem  his  family  and  the  English 
prisoners.  Shirley  laid  his  matter  before  the  gen- 
eral assembly,  and  they  granted  the  sum  of  ten 


•en  of 

It  and 
idice, 
insure 
lilized 
ig  to 
food, 
they 
snder 
•tingr, 
rench 
hown 


it  the 

index 
)ceed 
Jr,  he 
dians 
ir-in- 
7  at 
»d  a 
had 
ston. 
Irley 
?]ish 
gen- 
ten 


59 


pounds,  to  defray  his  expenses.  He  got  ho 
further  assistance  in  Massachusetts,  and  was  ad* 
vised  to  apply  to  the  government  of  New  Hamp- 
shire. Gov.  Wentvvorth  laid  the  matter  before 
the  general  assembly  of  that  state,  and  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  sterling  was  granted 
for  the  purpose  of  redemption  of  prisoners.  The 
committee  of  the  general  court  of  New  Hampshire 
gave  him  the  following  directions : — 


••m 


it' 


'        "  Portsmouth^  N.  //.,  Jan.  25,  1755. 

Mr.  James  Johnson  : — Sir,    agreeable   to  your 
letter  to  the  secretary,  of  the    16th   instant,  you 
have  enclosed  a  letter  to  Col.  Cornelius  Cuyler, 
Esq.,  in  which   you  will   observe  we  have   given 
you  credit  for  letters  on  his  acquaintance  in  Cana- 
da, to  furnish  you   with  credit  to  the  amount  of 
150  pounds  sterling.     We  therefore  advise  you  to 
proceed  to  Albany,  and,  on  your  arrival  there,  de- 
liver the  said  letter  to  Col.  Cuyler,  and  take  from 
him  such  credit  as  he  shall  give  you,  on  some  able 
person  or  persons  in  Canada ;  and,  when  you  are 
thus  furnished,  you  will  then  proceed  to  Canada, 
and  there  negociate,  in  the  best  and  most  frugal 
manner   you   can,   the   purchasing  such,  and    so 
many  captives,  as  you   may  hear   of,   that  have 
been  taken  from  any  part  of  this  province,  taking 
care  that  the  aforesaid  sum,  agreeable  to  the  grant 
of  the  general  assembly  here,  be  distributed  to  and 
for  the  purchasing  all  the  said  captives  that  are 
to  be  come  at,  in  the  most  equal  and  exact  man- 
ner, that  none  may  be  left  there  for  want  of  their 
quota  of  said  money.     The  captives'  names,  and 
places  from  whence  taken,  that  we  have  infor- 
mation of,  you  have  herewith  a  list  of,  for  your 


60 


direction.  You  are  to  keep  an  exact  account  of 
the  distribution  of  this  money,  in  order  to  your  fu- 
ture discharge. 

If  Col.  Cuyler  should  not  be  living,  or  refuse 
you  his  good  offices  in  this  affair,  you  are  then  to 

apply  to  the  Hon. Saunders,  Esq.,  mayor 

of  the  city  of  Albany,  or  any  other  person  that  can 
give  you  credit  at  Canada,  and  leave  with  them 
our  letter  to  Col.  Cuyler,  which  shall  oblige  us  to 
pay  the  said  sum  or  sums,  mentioned  in  the  said 
letter,  to  such  person,  and  in  the  same  way  and 
manner  as  we  have  obliged  ourselves  to  pay  him. 

We  are  your  friends, 

Theodore  Atkinson, 

S.  WlBIRT, 

Meshech  Weare, 
Benj.  Sherburne,  Jun. 


Com, 


A  List  of  the  Captives  taken  from,  the  Province  of 
New  Hampshire,  hy  the  St,  Francis  Indians^  in 
the  Summer  of  1754. 

From  Charlestown,  on  Connecticut  River, 
James  Johnson,  his  wife,  and  four  children.  Pe- 
ter Labarree.  Ebenezer  Farnsworth.  Miriam 
Willard. 

From  Merrimac  River,  Nathaniel  Mallon,  his 
wife,  and  three  children.  Robert  Barber.  Sam- 
uel Scribner.     Enos  Bishop. 

In  addition  to  this  letter  of  credit.  Governor 
Wentworth  gave  him  the  following  passport : — 


61 


int  of 
irfu- 

:*efuse 
|en  to 
layor 
tt  can 
them 

[US  to 

said 

and 

him. 


Com, 


tee  of 
IS,  in 


iver, 

Pe- 

riam 

his 
'am- 


nor 


Province  of  New  Hampshire,  in  New  England, 

By  His  Excellency,  Benning  Wentworth,  Esq., 
Captain  General,   Governor,  and  Com- 
mander in  Chief,  in  and  over  his  Brit- 
L,  S.     tanic  Majesty's  Province  of  New  Hamp- 
^  shire  aforesaid,  and  Vice  Admiral  of  the 
^'  same,  and  Surveyor  General  of  all  his 

Majesty's  Woods  in  North  America : — 

> 

Whereas  the  St.  Francis  and  other  Indians 
did,  in  the  summer  last  past,  captivate  sundry  of 
his  majesty's  subjects,  inhabitants  of  this  province, 
and  have,  as  I  have  been  informed,  sold  the  same 
to  the  subjects  of  the  French  king  in  Canada, 
where  they  are  now  detained  in  servitude,  and 
having  had  application  made  to  me,  by  Mr.  James 
Johnson,  of  Charlestown,  within  this  province,  one 
of  the  said  captives,  who  obtained  leave  to  come 
to  this  country,  in  order  to  purchase  his  own  and 
other  captives'  liberty — for  letters  of  safe  pass- 
port, I  do  hereby  require  and  command  all  offi- 
cers, civil  and  military,  as  well  as  all  other  per- 
sons, that  they  offer  no  lett  or  hindrance  to  the 
said  James  Johnson  or  his  company,  but  contra- 
wise,  that  they  afford  him  all  necessary  despatch 
in  said  journey  through  this  province. 

And  I  do  hereby  also  desire,  that  ail  his  majes- 
ty's subjects,  of  his  several  other  governments, 
through  which  the  said  Johnson  may  have  occa- 
sion to  travel,  may  treat  him  with  that  civility  that 
becometh. 

I  also  hereby  earnestly   entreat  the   governor 
general,  and  all  other  officers,  ministers,  and  sub- 
jects of  bi^  most  Christian  majesty,  governing  and 
4  # 


m 


m 


62 


inhabiting  the  Country  and  territories  of  Canada 
aforesaid,  that  they  would  respectively  be  aiding 
and  assisting  to  the  said  James  Johnson,  in  the 
aforesaid  negociation — her»jby  engaging  to  return 
the  same  civility  and  kindness  to  any  of  his  most 
Christian  majesty's  officers  and  subjects,  when 
thereto  requested,  by  any  of  his  governors  or  pro- 
per officers.  In  token  of  which,  I  have  caused  the 
public  seal  of  the  province  of  New  Hampshire 
aforesaid,  to  be  hereunto  affixed,  this  25th  day  of 
January,  in  the  28th  year  of  the  reign  of  our  sov- 
ereign lord,  George  the  Second,  of  Great  Britain, 
France,  and  Ireland,  King,  Defender  of  the 
Faith,  &c.  Benning  Wentworth. 

JBy  his  Excellenci/^ s  Command^ 

Theodore  Atkinson,  Sec'y. 
Anno  Domini,  1755. 

"With  these  credentials,  Mr.  Johnson  proceeded 
with  alacrity  to  Boston,  procured  Gov.  Shirley's 
passport,  and  set  forward  to  Worcester,  on  his 
return  back.  While  there,  he  was  greatly  aston- 
ished at  receiving  the  following  letter  from  Gover- 
nor Shirley: —  ^  .,- 

Boston,  February  15,  1755. 
Mr.  Johnson  : — there  have  some  things  happen- 
ed in  our  public  affairs,  since  your  going  from  Bos- 
ton with  my  letters  to  the  governor  of  Canada, 
and  intelligence  come  of  the  motions  of  the  French 
in  Canada,  for  further  invading  his  majesty's  ter- 
ritories on  the  frontiers  of  New  York  and  New 
Hampshire,  as  make  it  unsafe  for  you,  as  well  as 
for  the  public,  to  proceed  at  present  on  your 
journey  to  Quebec ;  and  therefore  I  expect  that 


64 


•m 


and  Vambram,  two  gentlemen  who  were  delivered 
by  Major  Washington,  as  hostages,  when  he,  with 
the  Virginia  troops,  surrendered  to  the  French 
and   Indians.     In  compliance  with  their  billet,  I 
waited  on  them  one  morning,  and  at  parting  re- 
ceived a  present  of  148  livres.     Mr.  St.  Agne,  a 
French  gentleman  of  fortune  and  distinction,  be- 
side frequent  proofs  of  his  goodness,  gave  me  at 
one  time  48  livres.     In  his  family  I  formed  an  in- 
timate acquaintance  with  a  young  English  lady, 
who  was  captured  by  the  Indians  in  the  province 
of  Maine,  and  sold  to  him.     She  was  used  with 
parental  tenderness,  and  shared  the  privileges  of 
his  children ;  she,  with  his  daughter,  frequently 
came  in  their  morning  carriage,  to  ride  with  my 
sister  and  me.     Gratitude  to  my  numerous  bene- 
factors pleads  loudly  in  favor  of  inserting  all  their 
names,  and  particularizing  every  act  of  generosi- 
ty.    If  I  omit  it,  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  I 
'  have  forgotten  their  charity ;  it  has  left  an  impres- 
sion on  my  heart,  that  can  only  be  erased  with  my 
existence.  *i 

While  in  Mr.  Du  Quesne's  family,  my  ttttle 
daughtei  was  very  unwell,  and  the  superstitious 
people  were  convinced  that  she  would  either  die, 
or  be  carried  oiFby  the  devil,  unless  baptized.  I 
yielded  to  their  wishes,  and  they  prepared  for  the 
ceremony  with  all  the  appendages  aimexed  to. 
their  religion.  Mr.  Du  Cluesne  was  godfather, 
a»d  the  young  English  lady  godmother ;  by  Mrs. 
Du  Cluesne's  particular  request,  she  was  christen- 
ed Louise,  after  herself,  to  which  I  added  the 
name  of  Captive. 

The  return  of  the  Indians  without  Mr.  Johnson 
boded  no  good  to  rne.     I  observed,  with  pain,  the 


« 


• « 


if 


1^ 


63 


you  do  forthwith,  upon  receiving  this  letter,  return 
back,  and  lay  aside  all  thoughts  of  going  forward 
on  this  journey,  till  you  have  my  leave,  or  the 
leave  of  Governor  Wentworth,  to  whom  I  shall 
write,  and  inform  him  of  what  I  have  undertook 
to  do  in  this  matter,  in  which  his  majesty's  service 
is  so  much  concerned.  W.   Shirley. 

Mr.  James  Johnkon. 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  he  returned  with  a 
heavy  heart  to  Boston,  and  was  positively  orde-ed 
by  Shirley  to  stay  till  further  orders.  His  situa- 
tion now  was  really  deplorable.  His  parole, 
which  was  only  for  two  months,  must  be  violated, 
his  credit  in  Canada  lost,  his  family  exposed  to 
the  malice  of  exasperated  Frenchmen,  and  all  his 
good  prospects  at  an  end.  After  using  every  ex- 
ertion in  Boston,  for  leave  to  recommence  his 
journey,  and  spending  the  rest  of  the  winter,  and 
all  the  spring,  he  found  his  efforts  were  in  vain. 
During  this  time,  my  situation  grew  daily  distress- 
ing. Mr.  Du  Quesne  made  honorable  provision 
for  myself,  sister,  and  child,  till  the  expiration  of 
my  husband's  parole  ;  the  two  Indians  were  then 
sent  to  Albany,  to  pilot  him  back ;  after  waiting 
some  time,  and  learning  nothing  about  him,  they 
returned.  Previous  to  this,  I  had  been  treated 
with  great  attention  and  civility,  dined  frequently 
in  the  first  families,  received  cards  to  attend  them 
on  parties  of  pleasure,  and  was  introduced  tp^^ 
large  and  respectable  acquaintance.  As  an  un- 
fortunate woman,  I  received  those  general  tokens 
of  generosity  which  flow  from  a  humane  people. 
Among  the  presents  which  I  received,  was  one  of 
no   small   magnitude,  from   Captains  Stowbrow 


gradu 
neglec 
Quesr 
suppo 
role,  J 
grant 
face, 
not  a 
word  ] 
dians. 
horror 
to  taki 
our  lit 
have  r 
In  t 
second 
and  ac 
Lvdiui 
Darkn 
olutioi 
relieve 
I  had 
withoi 
in.     I 
presei 
the  tel 
the  jo| 
sad  ftj 
sion 
by  thf 
drawi 
and 
Canal 
senc< 
varioi 


65 


1    ^! 


•eturn 
rward 
)r  the 
shall 
3rtook 
ervice 


with  a 
rde-ed 
I  situa- 
parole, 
olated, 
ised  to 
all  his 
ery  ex- 
ice   his 
er,  and 
in  vain. 
listress- 
ovision 
ition  of 
re  then 
waiting 
m, they 
treated 
quently 
id  them 
ced  t^e 
I  an  un- 
I  tokens 
people. 
3  one  of 
owbrow 


gradual  change  in  my  friends,  from  coldness  to 
neglect,  and  from  neglect  to  contempt.  Mr.  Du 
Quesne,  who  had  the  most  delicate  sense  of  honor, 
supposed  that  he  had  designedly  broken  his  pa- 
role, and  abused  his  confidence ;  he  refused  to 
grant  me  further  assistance,  or  even  to  see  my 
face.  I  aow  found  myself  friendless  and  alone  ; 
not  a  word  had  I  heard  from  Mr.  Johnson — not  a 
word  had  I  heard  from  my  little  son  with  the  In- 
dians. Affliction  lowered  upon  me  with  all  its 
horrors ;  in  this  dilemma,  my  sister  and  I  agreed 
to  take  a  small  room,  and  support  ourselves  till 
our  little  store  of  cash  was  expended,  and  then 
have  recourse  to  our  needles. 

In  the  beginning  of  April,  the  Indians  made  a 
second  tour  to  Albany,  in  quest  of  Mr.  Johnson, 
and  a^ain  returned  without  him.     I  wrote  to  Col. 
Lydius  for  information,  but  he  could  tell  nothing. 
Darkn-^ss  increased;  but  I  summoned  all  my  res- 
olution, and  indulged  the  fond  hope  of  being  soon 
relieved.     We  kept  our  little  room  till  June,  when 
I  had  the  happiness  to  hear  that  my  husband  was 
without  the  city,   waiting   for  permission  to  come 
in.     He   was   conducted  in  by  a  file  of  men  :  his 
presence  banished  care  and  trouble,  and  turned 
the  tear  of  sorrow  to  the  effusion  of  joy.     After 
the  joy  of  meeting  had  subsided,   he  related   his 
sad  fate  in  New  England.     He  finally  got  permis- 
sion  from    Gov.  "Wentworth  to    come    privately, 
by  the  way  of  Albany,   where  he  took  his  bills, 
drawn  by  Mr.  Cuyler,   on  Mr.  St.  Luc  Lucorne, 
and  Mr.  Rine  Du  Quesne.     The  face  of  afiairs  in 
Canada  had  materially   changed  ;  during  his  ab- 
sence, a  new  governor  had  been  sent  over,  and 
various  manoeuvres  in  politics  had  taken  place, 


1  ' 

1 


66 


which  were  very  injurious  to  him.  Had  the  old 
governor  tarried,  his  absence  would  have  probably 
been  excused.  But  Mens.  Vandrieul  was  igno- 
rant of  the  conditions  on  which  he  went  home, 
and  could  not  admit  apologies  for  the  breach  of 
his  parole.  Our  disappointment  and  mortification 
were  severe,  when  we  found  our  bills  protested^ 
This  reduced  us  at  once  to  a  beggarly  state.  The 
evil  was  partially  remedied  by  St.  Luc  Lucorne's 
lending  us  paper  money,  while  we  could  send 
some  Indians  to  Mr.  Cuyler  for  silver.  Mr.  John- 
son received  orders  to  settle  his  affairs  with  all 
possible  despatch. 

Spirited  preparations  were  now  making  for  war. 
General  Dieskau  arrived  from  France  with  an  ar~ 
my,  and  Montreal  was  a  scene  of  busy  confusion. 
We  were  completing  our  settlements  with  our  pa- 
per, expecting  to  have  full  permission  to  go  home, 
when  the  Indians  returned.     But  the  measure  of 
our  misery  was  not  yet  full.     In  the  beginning  of 
July,  Mr.  Johnson  was  put  into  jail.     Terrible  to 
me  was  this  unexpected  stroke  ;  without  money, 
credit,  or  friends,  I  must  now  roam   the  streets, 
without  a  prospect  of  relief  from  the  cloud  of  mis- 
fortune that  hung  over  me.     In  a  few  days,  the 
faithful  Indians,  who  had  been  sent  to  Mr.  Cuyler 
for  the  silver,  returned  with  438  dollars,  with  an 
order  on  St.  Luc  Lucorne  for  700  additional  livres ; 
but  he   took  the  whole  into  possession,  and   we 
never  after  received  a  penny  from  him. 

Half  distracted,  and  almost  exhausted  with  des- 
pair and  grief,  I  went  to  the  governor,  to  paint 
our  distress  and  ask  relief.  I  found  him  of  easy 
access,  and  he  heard  my  lamentable  story  with 
seeming  emotion ;  his  only  promise  was  to  take 


67 


■w,' 


le  old 
bably 
igno- 
lome, 
ch  of 
ation 
ested. 
The 
)rne's 
send 
John- 
h  all 

war. 
in  ar- 
Jsion. 
ir  pa- 
lome, 
re  of 
ngo£ 
ole  to 
3ney, 
•eets, 
mis- 
,  the 
iyler 
b  an 
res; 

we 

ties- 
aint 
jasy 
yith 
ake 


care  of  us,  and  at  parting  he  gave  me  a  crown,  to 
buy  milk  for  my  babes.  Ignorant  of  our  destiny, 
my  sister  and  I  kept  our  little  room,  and  were  for- 
tunate enough  to  get  subsistence  from  day  to  day 
— oflen  going  to  the  gloomy  prison,  to  see  my  poor 
husband,  whose  misfortunes  in  Boston  had  brought 
him  to  this  wretchedness. 

Our  own  misfortunes  had  taught  us  how  to  feel 
for  the  sufferings  of  others,  and  large  demands 
were  now  made  on  our  sympathetic  powers.  Just 
as  we  were  plunged  into  this  new  distress,  a  scout 
of  savages  brought  a  number  of  prisoners  into 
Montreal,  which  were  our  old  friends  and  acquain- 
tance.* Our  meeting  was  a  scene  of  sorrow  and 
melancholy  pleasure. 

All  were  now  flocking  to  the  standard  of  war. 
The  Indians  came  from  all  quarter^,  thirsting  for 
English  blood,  and  receiving  instruction  from  the 
French.  A  number  of  tribes,  with  all  their  horrid 
weapons  of  war,  paraded  one  morning  before  the 
general's  house,  and  held  the  war-dance,  and  filled 
the  air  with  infernal  yells  ;  after  which,  in  a  for- 
mal manner,  they  took  the  hatchet  against  the 


n/ 


*  Two  children  from  Mr.  H.  Grout's  family,  and  two  children 
belonging  to  Mrs.  Howe,  the  fair  captive,  celebrated  in  Col. 
Humphrey's  life  of  Putnam.    Their  names  were  Polly  and  Sub- 
mit Phips.     Mrs.  Howe  was  them  a  prisoner  at  St.  John's,  with 
six  other  children,  and  one  Garfield.    They  were  all  taken  at 
Hinsdale.    Mrs.  Howe's  daughters  were  purchased  by  Mons. 
Vandrieul,  the  governor,  and  had  every  attention  paid  tneir  edu- 
cation.   After  a  year's  residence  in  Montreal,  they  were  sent  to 
the  grand  nunnery  in  Quebec,  where  my  sister  and  I  made  them 
a  visit  J  they   were  beautiful  girls,  cheerful,  and  well   taught. 
We  here  found  two  aged  English  ladies,  who  had  been  taken  in 
former  wars.    One,  by  the  name  of  Wheelwright,  who  had  a 
brother  in- Boston,  on  whom  she  requested  me  to  call,  if  ever  I 
went  to  that  place  :  T  complied  with  her  request  aflerwards,  and 
received  many  civilities  fron^  her  brother. 
4f      . 


(■* 


68 


English,    and   mafched   for   the   field   of  battle. 
Alas !  my  poor  countrymen,  thought  I,  how  many 
of  you  are  to  derive  misery  from  these  monsters. 
On  the  22d  of  July,  Mr.  Johnson  was  taken 
from    the  jail,    and,   with   myself  and    our   two 
youngest  chifdren,  were  ordered  on  board  a  vessel 
for  Quebec.     To  leave  our  friends  at  Montreal 
was  a  distressing  aft'air ;  my  sister's  ransom  had 
been  paid,   but  she  could  not   go  with  us.     She 
went  into  the  family  of  the  lieutenant  governor, 
where  she  supported  herself  with  her  needle.     My 
eldest  daughter  was  still  with  the  three  old  maids, 
who  treated  her  tenderly.     Labarree  and  Farns- 
worth  had  paid  the  full  price  of  their  redemption, 
but  were  not  allowed  to  go  home.     Not  a  word  had 
we  heard  yet  from  poor  Sylvanus.     We  parted  in 
tears,  ignorant  of  our  destination,  but  little  think- 
ing that  we  were  to  embark  for  a  place  of  wretch- 
edness and  woe.      After  two  days'  good  sailing, 
we  arrived  at  Quebec,  and  were  all  conducted 
directly  to  jail. 


CHAPTER  VIl. 

Six  Months^  residence  in  the  Criminal  Jail^  and  re^ 
maval  to  the  Civil  Prison, 

We  now,  to  our  indescribable  pain,  found  the 
fallacy  of  Mr.  Governor's  promises  for  our  wel- 
fare. This  jail  was  a  place  too  shocking  for  de- 
scription. In  one  corner  sat  a  poor  being,  half 
dead  with  the  smallpox  ;  in  another  were  some 
lousy  blankets  and  straw ;  in  the  centre  stood  a 
few  dirty  dishes,  and  the  whole  presented  a  scene 


misera 

the  fea 

by  the 

none  o 

resigns 

night 

disease 

small 

some 

pail  th 

lousy 

of  our 

for  sej 

the  sn 

my  hi 

In  tw« 

Capti 

but  a 

mistri 

My 

pltal, 

the  p 

'The 

God  1 

allevi 

band 

said, 

provi 

purp 

serv< 

in  oi 

mor< 

ticul 

that 

dictj 


69 


attle. 

many 

sters. 

taken 
two 
vessel 

treal 
had 
She 

riior. 
My 
naids, 
''arns- 
ption, 
•dhad 
ted  in 
think- 
retch- 
ailing, 
lucted 


ndre' 

d  the 
Avel- 
>r  de- 
,  half 
some 
)od  a 
scene 


miserable  to  view.  The  terrors  of  starvation,  and 
the  fear  of  suffocating  in  filth,  were  overpowered 
by  the  more  alarming  evil  of  the  smallpox,  which 
none  of  us  had  had.  But  there  was  no  retreat; 
resignation  was  our  only  resource.  The  first  fort- 
night we  waited  anxiously  for  the  attack  of  the 
disease,  in  which  time  we  were  supported  by  a 
small  piece  of  meat  a  day,  which  was  stewed  with 
some  rusty  crusts  of  bread,  and  brouglit  to  us  in  a 
pail  that  swine  would  run  from.  The  straw  and 
lousy  blankets  were  our  only  lodging,  and  the  rest 
of  our  furniture  consisted  of  some  wooden  blocks 
for  seats.  On  the  fifteenth  day  I  was  taken  with 
the  smu'!pox,  and  removed  to  the  hospital,  leaving 
my  husband  and  two  children  in  the  horrid  prison. 
In  two  days,  Mr.  Johnson  put  my  youngest  child, 
Captive,  out  to  nurse.  The  woman  kept  the  child 
but  a  ^Q\v  days,  before  she  returned  it,  owing  to  a 
mistrust,  that  she  should  not  get  her  pay. 

My  husband  brought  the  child  to  me  at  the  hos- 
pital, and  told  me  the  sad  tale  ;  and,  after  bathing 
the  poor  little  infant  in  tears,  I  thought  and  said, 
*  The  task  is  too  hard  !  had  it  been  the  will  of 
God  to  have  taken  the  child  away,  it  might  have 
alleviated  some  part  of  our  trouble.'  But  my  hus- 
band immediately  checked  my  murmurings,  and 
said,  *  Be  still,  and  let  us  not  complain  of  the 
providence  of  God;  for  we  know  not  for  what 
purpose  this  dear  child  is  so  miraculously  pre- 
served. It  may  yet  be  the  greatest  comfort  to  us 
in  our  old  age,  should  we  arrive  to  it.'  And  much 
more  he  said  to  this  eflect,  which  I  do  not  so  par- 
ticularly recollect.  And  I  am  constrained  to  say, 
that  I  have  had  the  happiness  of  finding  his  pre- 
dictions fully  exemplified. — But  to  return  to  my 


,'■•  f 


w 

if 

•  % 


m 


70 


I 


narrative.  Should  the  dear  little  thing  remain  in 
prison,  certain  death  must  inevitably  be  her  por- 
tion. My  husband  was  therefore  reduced  to  the 
sad  necessity  of  requesting  the  woman  to  carry  it 
to  the  lord  intendant,  and  tell  him  that  he  must 
either  allow  her  a  compensation  for  keeping  it,  or 
it  must  be  left  at  his  door.  The  good  woman 
dressed  it  decently,  and  obeyed  her  orders.  Mr. 
Intendant  smiled  at  her  story,  and  took  the  child 
in  his  arms,  saying  it  was  a  pretty  little  English 
devil — it  was  a  pity  it  should  die.  He  ordered 
his  clerk  to  draw  an  order  for  its  allowance,  and 
she  took  good  care  of  it  till  the  last  of  October, 
except  a  few  days,  while  it  had  the  smallpox. 

A  i'ew  days  after  I  left  the  prison,  Mr.  Johnson 
and  my  other  daughter  were  taken  with  symptoms, 
and  came  to  the  hospital  to  me.  It  is  a  singular 
instance  of  divine  interposition,  that  we  all  recov- 
ered from  this  malignant  disease.  We  were  re- 
manded to  prison,  but  were  not  compelled  to  our 
former  rigid  confinement.  Mr.  Johnson  was 
allowed,  at  certain  times,  to  go  about  the  city,  in 
quest  of  provision.  But,  en  the  20th  of  October, 
St.  Luc  Lucerne  arrived  from  Montreal,  with  the 
news  of  Dieskau's  defeat;  he  had,  ever  since  my 
husband's  misfortune  about  his  parole,  been  his 
persecuting  enemy.  By  his  instigation  we  were 
all  put  directly  to  close  prison. 

The  ravages  of  the  smallpox  reduced  us  to  the 
last  extremity,  and  the  foetid  prison,  without  fire 
or  food,  added  bitterness  to  our  distress.  Mr. 
Johnson  preferred  a  petition  to  the  lord^intendant, 
stating  our  melancholy  situation.  I  had  the  liber- 
ty of  presenting  it  myself,  and,  by  the  assistance 
of  Mr.  Perthieur,  the  interpreter,  in  whom  we 


ever  foi 

small  n 

taken  v 

the  hos 

month' 

tendanc 

back  t< 

found 

tidings 

Mont  re 

daught 

soners, 

wishes 

heard 

Wid 

frosts 

ings. 

blasts 

of  stra 

suppo 

to  this 

iron  g 

incler 

allowf 

dirty ' 

for  ta 

— in  j 

fori 

Ou 

and  ^ 

cast  i 

havir 

the  c 

misfc 

rosit 


71 


j'-,;^itii' 


ain  in 
r  por- 
to  the 
arry  it 
le  must 
g  it,  or 
[woman 
Mr. 
e  child 
inglish 
rdered 
e,  and 
ctober, 

)X. 

>hnson 
ptoms, 
ngular 
recov- 

3re  re- 

to  our 

n    was 

'itj,  in 

*tober, 

th  the 

ce  my 

in  his 
were 

0  the 
t  fire 

Mr. 
dant, 
liber- 
ance 

1  we 


ever  found  a  compassionate  friend,  we  got  some 
small  relief.  About  the  first  of  November,  I  was 
taken  violently  ill  of  a  fever,  and  was  carried  to 
the  hospital,  with  my  daughter  Captive.  After  a 
month's  residence  there,  with  tolerable  good  at- 
tendance, I  recovered  from  my  illness,  and  went 
back  to  my  husband.  While  at  the  hospital,  I 
found  an  opportunity  to  convey  the  unwelcome 
tidings  of  our  deplorable  situation  to  my  sister  at 
Montreal,  charging  her  to  give  my  best  love  to  my 
daughter  Susanna,  and  to  inform  our  feilow-pri- 
soners,  Labarree  and  Farnsworth,  that  our  good 
wishes  awaited  them.  Not  a  word  had  we  yet 
heard  from  poor  Sylvanus. 

Winter  now  began  to  approach,  and  the  severe 
frosts  of  Canada  operated  keenly  upon  our  feel- 
ings. Our  prison  was  a  horrid  defence  from  the 
blasts  of  December ;  with  two  chairs  and  a  heap 
of  straw,  and  two  lousy  blankets,  we  may  well  be 
supposed  to  live  uncomfortable  ;  but,  in  addition 
to  this,  we  had  but  one  poor  fire  a  day,  and  the 
iron  grates  gave  free  access  to  the  chills  of  the 
inclement  sky.  A  quart  bason  was  the  only  thing 
allowed  us  to  cook  our  small  piece  of  meat  and 
dirty  crusts  in,  and  it  must  serve  at  the  same  time 
for  table  furniture.  In  this  sad  plight — a  prisoner 
— in  jail — winter  approaching — conceive,  reader, 
for  I  cannot  speak,  our  distress. 

Our  former  benevolent  friends,  Capt.  Stowbrow 
and  Vambram,  had  the  peculiar  misfortune  to  be 
cast  into  a  prison  opposite  to  us.  Suspicion  of 
having  corresponded  with  their  countrymen,  was 
the  crime  with  which  they  were  charged.  Their 
misfortune  did  not  preclude  the  exertion  of  gene- 
rosity ;  they  frequently  sent  us,  by  the  waiting- 


Ml  1 


72 


maid,  bottles  of  wine,  and  articles  of  provision. 
But  the  malice  of  Frenchmen  had  now  arrived  to 
such  a  pitch  against  all  our  country,  that  we  must 
be  deprived  of  these  comforts.  These  good  men 
were  forbidden  their  offices  of  kindness,  and  our 
intercourse  was  entirely  prohibited.  We  however 
found  means,  by  a  stratagem,  to  effect,  in  some 
measure,  what  could  not  be  done  by  open  dealing. 
"When  the  servants  were  carrying  in  our  daily 
supplies,  we  slipped  into  the  entry,  and  deposited 
our  letters  in  an  ash-box,  which  were  taken  by 
our  friends,  they  leaving  one  at  the  same  time  for 
us  ;  this  served,  in  some  measure,  to  amuse  a  dull 
hour.  Sometimes  we  diverted  ourselves  by  the 
use  of  Spanish  cards  ;  as  Mr.  Johnson  was  igno- 
rant of  the  game,  I  derived  no  inconsiderable 
pleasure  from  instructing  him.  But  the  vigilance 
of  our  keepers  increased,  and  our  paper  and  ink 
were  withheld.  We  had  now  been  prisoners 
seventeen  months,  and  our  prospects  were  chang- 
ing from  bad  to  worse ;  five  months  had  elapsed 
since  our  confinement  in  this  horrid  receptacle, 
except  the  time  we  lingered  in  the  hospital.  Our 
jailer  was  a  true  descendant  from  Pharoah ;  but, 
urged  by  impatience  and  despair,  I  softened  him 
so  much  as  to  get  him  to  ask  Mr.  Perthieur  to  call 
on  us.  When  the  good  man  came,  we  described 
our  situation  in  all  the  moving  terms  which  our 
feelings  inspired,  which,  in  addition  to  what  he 
saw,  convinced  him  of  the  reality  of  our  distress. 
He  proposed  asking  an  inHuential  friend  of  his  to 
call  on  us,  who,  perhaps,  would  devise  some  mode 
for  our  relief.  The  next  day  the  gentleman  came 
to  see  us ;  he  was  one  of  those  good  souls  who 
ever  feel  for  others'  woes.  He  was  highly  affronted 


with  h 
tress, 
self  sh 
which 
house, 
of  us  { 
The 
dant  c 
saying 
der  of 
that  h 
would 
sieur, 
letter 
and  l 
son  XI 
with  < 
gover 


?« 


Ik 

conc< 

Mr.] 

civil 

take 

of,  a 

hand 

pow< 

8UCC< 

in-la 

ing: 
less 

stop 

befo 


73 


ision. 

ed  to 

must 
men 
d  our 
wever 

some 
aling. 

daily 

sited 

n  by 
ne  for 
a  dull 
7  the 

igno- 
3rable 
lance 
d  ink 
oners 
hang- 
apsed 
tacle, 

Our 
1  but, 

him 
ocall 
ribed 
I  our 
It  he 
:ress. 
lis  to 
node 
tame 
who 
nted 


with  his  countrymen  for  reducing  us  to  such  dis- 
tress,  and  declared  that  the  lord  intendant  him- 
self should  call  on  us,  and  see  the  extremities  to 
which  he  had  reduced  us ;  he  sent  from  his  own 
house,  that  night,  a  kettle,  some  candles,  and  each 
of  us  a  change  of  linen. 

The  next  day,  January  8th,  1756,  Mr.  Inten- 
dant came  to  see  us  ;  he  exculpated  himself  by 
saying  that  we  were  put  there  by  the  special  or- 
der of  Mons.  Vaudrieul,  the  governor-in-chief,  and 
that  he  had  no  authority  to  release  us.  But  he 
would  convey  a  letter  from  Mr.  Johnson  to  mon- 
sieur, which  might  have  the  desired  effect.  The 
letter  was  accordingly  written,  stating  our  troubles, 
and  beseeching  relief — likewise  praying  that  our 
son  might  be  got  from  the  Indians  and  sent  to  us, 
with  our  daughter  and  sister  from  Montreal.  The 
governor  returned  the  following  obliging  letter:— 

•-■,;-"    -■^-;'         TRANSLATION. 

I  HAVE  received,  sir,  your  letter,  and  am  much 
concerned  for  the  situation  you  are  in.  I  write  to 
Mr.  Longieul,  to  put  you  and  your  wife  in  the 
civil  jail. .  Mr.  L.  Intendant  will  be  so  good  as  to 
take  some  notice  of  the  things  you  stand  in  need 
of,  and  to  help  you.  As  to  your  boy,  who  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  Indians,  I  will  do  all  that  is  in  mj 
power  to  get  him,  but  I  do  not  hope  to  have  a  good 
success  in  it.  Your  child  in  town,  and  jour  lister 
in-law,  are  well.  If  it  is  some  opportunity  of  do- 
ing you  some  pleasure,  I  will  make  use  of  it,  un- 
less some  reason  might  happen  that  hinder  and 
stop  the  effects  of  my  good  will.  If  you  had  not 
before  given  some  cause  of  being  suspected,  you 
5 


i»  'I 


«., 


74 


should  be  at  liberty.     I  am,  sir,  your  most  humble 
servant,  Vaudrieul. 

From  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  we  dated  our 
escape  from  direful  bondage.  Mr.  Intendant  or* 
dered  us  directly  to  the  new  jail,  called  the  civil 
prison,  where  our  accommodations  were  infinitely 
better.  We  had  a  decent  bed,  candles,  fuel,  and 
all  the  conveniences  belonging  to  prisoners  of 
war.  Mr.  Johnson  was  alio  we  i  fifteen  pence  per 
day,  on  account  of  a  lieutenant^s  commission 
which  he  held  under  George  the  Second,  and  I 
was  permitted  to  go  once  a  week  into  the  city,  to 
purchase  necessaries,  and  a  washerwoman  was 
provided  for  my  use.  We  were  not  confined  to 
the  narrow  limits  of  a  single  room,  but  were  re- 
strained only  by  the  bounds  of  the  jail-yard.  Our 
situation  formed  such  a  contrast  with  what  we 
endured  in  the  gloomy  criminal  jail,  that  we  im- 
agined ourselves  the  favorites  of  fortune,  and  in 
high  life. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Residence  in  the  Civil  Jail^  and  occurrences  till  the 
twentieth  of  July,  1757, 

To  be  indolent  from  necessity,  has  ever  been 
deemed  a  formidable  evil.  No  better  witnesses 
than  ourselves  can  testify  the  truth  of  the  remark, 
although  our  lodgings  were  now  such  as  we  en- 
vied a  month  before  ;  yet,  to  be  compelled  to  con- 
tinual idleness,  was  grievous  to  be  borne.  We 
derived  some  amusement  from  the  cultivation  of 


%i« 


%w 


" 


imbie 

lUL. 

our 
it  or- 
civil 
litely 
and 
rs  of 
e  per 
ission 
ind  I 
ty,  to 
was 
ed  to 
e  re- 
Our 
it  we 
e  im- 
nd  in 


I     •  "*f^ 


II  the 

been 
esses 
lark, 

en- 
con- 

We 
n  of 


75 


a  small  garden,  witliin  the  jail-yard  ;  but  a  contin- 
ued sameness  of  friends  and  action,  rendered  our 
time  extremely  wearisome. 

About  a  month  after  our  arrival  at  this  new 
abode,  one  Capt.  Milton,  with  his  crew,  who,  with 
their  vessel,  were  taken  at  sea,  were  brought  pris- 
oners of  war  to  the  same  place.  Milton  was 
lodged  in  our  apartment ;  he  had  all  the  rude, 
boisterous  airs  of  a  seaman,  without  the  least  trait 
of  a  gentleman,  which  rendered  him  a  very  trou- 
blesome companion.  His  impudence  was  consum- 
mate, but  that  was  not  the  greatest  evil ;  while 
some  new  recruits  were  parading  before  the  pris- 
on, one  day,  Milton  addressed  them  in  very  im- 
proper language  from  our  window,  which  was 
noticed  directly  by  city  authority,  who,  supposing 
it  to  be  Mr.  Johnson,  ordered  him  »'ito  the  dun- 
geon. Deeply  affected  by  this  new  trouble,  I 
again  called  on  my  friend,  Mr.  Perthieur,  who, 
after  having  ascertained  the  facts,  got  him  releas- 
ed.    Mr.  Milton  was  then  put  into  other  quarters. 

A  new  jailer,  who  had  an  agreeable  lady  for 
his  wife,  now  made  our  situation  still  more  happy. 
My  little  daughters  played  with  hers,  and  learned 
the  French  language.  But  my  children  were 
some  trouble ;  the  eldest,  Polly,  could  slip  out  into 
the  street  under  the  gate,  and  often  came  nigh 
being  lost.  I  applied  to  the  centinel,  and  he  kept 
her  within  proper  bounds. 

Capt.  M*Neil  and  his  brother,  from  Boston, 
were  brought  to  us  as  prisoners ;  they  informed 
us  of  the  state  of  politics  in  our  own  country,  and 
told  us  some  interesting  news  about  some  of  our 
friends  at  home. 

In  the  morning  of  the  13th  of  August,  our  jailer. 


■"U 


76 


with  moon-eyes,  caliie  to  congratulate  us  on  th# 
taking  of  Oswego  by  the  French.  We  entered 
little  into  his  spirit  of  joy,  preferring  much  to  hear 
good  news  ft-om  the  other  side.  We  were  soon 
visited  by  some  of  the  prisoners  who  had  surren- 
dered. Col.  Schuyler  was  in  the  number,  who, 
with  the  gentlemen  in  his  suit,  made  us  a  gener- 
ous present. 

The  remainder  of  the  summer  and  fall  of  1756 
passed  off  without  any  sensible  variation.  We 
frequently  heard  from  Montreal ;  my  sister  was 
very  well  situated,  in  the  family  of  the  lieutenant 
governor,  and  my  eldest  daughter  was  caressed 
by  her  three  mothers.  Could  I  have  heard  from 
my  son,  half  my  trouble  would  have  ended. 

In  December  I  was  delivered  of  a  son,  which 
lived  but  a  few  hours,  and  was  buried  under  the 
Cathedral  Church. 

In  the  winter  I  received  a  letter  from  my  sister, 
containing  the  sad  tidings  of  my  father's  death. 
He  was  killed  the  16th  of  June,  1756,  about  fifty 
rods  east  from  the  main  street  in  Charlestown,  on 
the  same  lot  on  which  my  youngest  brother  now 
lives.  My  father  and  my  brother,  Moses  Willard, 
were  repairing  some  fence  on  the  rear  (ff  the  lots, 
and  the  Indians,  being  secreted  in  the  bushes  a 
small  distance  from  them,  fired  upon  them,  and 
shot  my  father  dead  on  the  spot.  They  then 
sprang  to  catch  my  brother  ;  he  ran  for  the  fort, 
and  there  being  a  rise  of  ground  to  pass  towards 
the  fort,  the  Indian  that  followed  him,  finding  that 
he  could  not  catch  him,  sent  his  spear,  which 
pierced  his  thigh,  with  which  he  ran  to  the  fort. 
He  is  now  living  in  Charlestown,  and  still  carries 
the  scar  occasioned  by  the  woundi 


r  it'}. 


1  th« 
tered 
hear 
soon 
rren- 
who, 
ener- 

1756 
We 

•  was 

enant 

'essed 

from 

w^hich 
r  the 

sister, 
leath. 

fifty 
^n,  on 

now 
Hard, 
J  lots, 
bes  a 
r  and 

then 

fort, 
i^ards 
f  that 
i^hich 

fort, 
rries 


n 


The  melancholy  tidings  of  the  death  of  my 
father,  in  addition  to  my  other  afflictions,  wore 
upon  me  sensibly,  and  too  much  grief  reduced  me 
to  a  weak  condition.  I  was  taken  sick,  and  car- 
ried to  the  hospital,  where,  afler  a  month's  linger- 
ing illness,  I  found  myself  able  to  return. 

The  commencement  of  the  year  1757  passed 
off  without  a  prospect  of  liberty.     Part  of  our  fel- 
low-prisoners were  sent  to  France,  but  we  made 
no  voyage  out  of  the  jail-yard.     About  the  first  of 
May,  we  petitioned  Mons.  Vaudrieul  to  permit 
our  sister  to  come  to  us.     Our  prayer  was  granted, 
and  in  May  we  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her,  after 
an  absence  of  two  years.     She  had  supported  her- 
4self  by  her  needle,  in  the  family  of  the  lieutenant 
governor,  where  she  was  treated  extremely  well, 
and  received  a  present  of  four  crowns,  at  parting. 
Impatient  of  confinement,  we  now  made  another 
Bttempt  to  gain  our  liberty.     Mr.  Perthieur  con- 
ducted us  to  the  house  of  the  lord  intendant,  to 
whom  we  petitioned  in  pressing  terms,  stating, 
that  we  had  now   been   prisoners   almost   three 
years,  and  had  suffered  every  thing  but  death,  and 
that  would  be  our  speedy  portion,  unless  we  had 
relief.     His  lordship  listened  with  seeming  pity, 
and  promised  to  lay  our  case  before  the  head  man 
at  Montreal,  and  give  us  an  answer  in  seven  days ; 
at  the  expiration  of  which  time,  we  had  a  permit 
to  leave  the  prison.     It  is  not  easy  to  describe  the 
effect  of  such  news ;  those  only,  who  have  felt  the 
horrors  of  confinement,  can  figure  to  themselves 
the  happiness  we  enjoyed,   when  breathing  once 
more  the  air  of  liberty.     We  took   lodgings   in 
town,  where  we  tarried  till  the  first  of  June,  when 
a  cartel  ship  arrived,  to  carry  prisoners  to  Eng- 


'J^i 


■i '  »j 


c^'^ 


38 


land  for  an  exchange.  Mr.  Johnson  wrote  an 
urgent  letter  to  Mons.  Vaudrieul,  praying  that  his 
famiiy  might  be  included  with  those  who  were  to 
take  passage.  Monsieur  wrote  a  very  encourag- 
ing letter  back,  promising  that  he  and  his  family 
should  sail,  and  that  his  daughter,  Susanna,  should 
be  sent  to  him.  He  concluded  by  congratulating 
him  on  his  good  prospects,  and  ordering  the  go- 
vernor of  Quebec  to  afford  us  his  assistance.  Tills 
letter  was  dated  June  the  27th. 

That  the  reader  may  the  better  realize  our  situ- 
ation and  feelings  on  this  occasion,  the  copies  of 
the  letters  are  here  inserted : — 

Sir: — A  report  being  current  in  town,  that  all 
the  English  prisoners  were  exchanged,  and  are  to 
be  sent  off  soon,  made  me  apply  to  Mr.  Perthieur, 
to  know  of  him  whether  I  was  included.  He  told 
me  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  affair ;  this  makes 
me  take  the  liberty  to  apply  to  your  excellency, 
to  pray  you  to  have  compassion  on  my  distressed 
situation,  and  to  send  me  away  with  others.  It  is 
now  almost  three  years  that  I  have  been  a  prisoner 
with  my  family,  which  has  already  reduced  me  to 
extreme  want ;  and,  unless  your  excellency  pities 
me,  I  am  likely  to  continue  miserable  forever. 
Were  I  all  alone,  the  affair  would  not  be  so  me- 
lancholy ;  but  having  a  wife,  and  sister,  and  four 
children,  involved  in  my  misfortune,  makes  it  the 
more  deplorable.  And,  to  add  to  all  my  misery, 
my  boy  is  still  in  the  hands  of  the  savages,  not- 
withstanding I  rely  upon  the  letter  your  excellency 
did  me  the  honor  to  condescend  to  write  me,  to 
assure  me  of  your  endeavors  in  withdrawing  him 
out  of  their  hands.     And  I  must  therefore  once 


te  an 

[at  his 

re  to 

[urag- 

imily 

Ihould 

lating 

le  go- 

This 

situ- 
es  of 


lat  all 
ire  to 
nieur, 
b  told 
nakes 
ency, 
essed 

It  is 
soner 
me  to 
pities 
•ever. 
)  me- 
l  four 
it'  the 
sery, 

not- 
ency 
e,  to 

hitn 
once 


79 


more  take  the  liherty  to  entreat  you  to  do  it,  and 
send  him  down  here,  as  well  as  my  girl,  still  at 
Montreal,  and  their  ransom  shall  be  immediately 
paid. 

As  I  have  your  excellency's  parole,  to  be  one  of 
the  first  prisoners  sent  away,  I  will  not  give  my- 
self leave  to  doubt  or  fear  that  I  shall  not — and 
your  excellency  well  knows,  that  your  predeces- 
sor, Mr.  D'Longueille,  gave  me  his,  that,  upon 
returning  from  New  England,  with  the  ransom  of 
myself  and  family,  I  should  be  at  liberty;  never- 
theless, I  was  not,  owing  to  want  of  opportunity. 

Your  excellency  made  me  the  same  promise, 
and  the  occasion  now  presenting  itself,  I  well 
know  that  I  have  only  to  put  you  in  mind  of  it,  in 
order  to  the  gaining  of  my  desire. 

Should  it  be  impossible  to  get  my  children  with 
me,  (though  that  would  be  the  greatest  of  misfor- 
tunes,) yet  that  should  not  hinder  me  from  going 
myself,  in  expectation  of  peace,  when  I  might  once 
more  return  and  fetch  them  myself. 

I  hope  your  excellency  will  easily  forgive  the 
trouble  my  miserable  situation  obliges  me  to  give 
you,  and  that  you  will,  with  your  wonted  good- 
ness, grant  my  request. 

I  am,  with  profound  esteem, 

Sir,  your  most  humble,  and 

most  obedient  servant, 
MoNs.  D'Vaudrteul.  James  Johnson. 

Quebec,  21st  June,  1757. 

ANSWER  TO  THE  FOREGOING. TRANSLATION. 

Montreal,  June  27,  1757. 
Sir  : — I  have  received  your  letter  of  the  current 

5t 


\  I' 


Im 


M 


fm 


80 


month.  I  will  consent,  with  pleasure,  to  your  being^ 
sent  back  to  England  in  the  packet-boat  which  I 
am  about  to  dispatch  with  some  English  prison- 
ers. For  this  purpose,  I  will  send  your  daughter 
to  Quebec  by  the  first  vessel.  I  am  glad  to  learn 
that  you  are  in  a  situation  to  pay  her  rans  /  i.  I 
wish  that  you  might  find  the  same  facility,  on  the 
part  of  the  savages,  to  get  your  son  out  of  their 
hands.  When  I  shall  have  despatched  your 
daughter,  I  will  write  to  Mons.  DXongueil  to 
send  you  back,  with  your  family,  after  you  shall 
have  satisfied  the  persons  who  have  made  advan- 
ces  for  their  recovery  from  the  savages.  I  am,  sir, 
your  affectionate  servant,  Vaudrieul. 

Mr.  James  Johnson. 

This  tide  of  good  fortune  almost  wiped  away 
the  remembrance  of  three  years'  adversity.  We 
began  our  preparations  for  embarkation  with 
alacrity.  Mr.  Johnson  wrote  St.  Luc  Lucorne  for 
the  seven,  hundred  livres  due  on  Mr.  Cuyler's 
order,  but  his  request  was,  and  still  is,  unsatisfied. 
This  was  a  period  big  with  every  thing  propitious 
and  happy.  The  idea  of  leaving  a  country-where 
I  had  suffered  the  keenest  distress  during  two 
months  and  a  half  with  the  savages,  been  bowed 
down  by  every  mortification  and  insult  which 
could  arise  from  ihe  misfortunes  of  my  husband  in 
New  England,  and  where  I  had  spent  two  years 
in  sickness  and  despair,  in  a  prison  too  shocking 
to  mention,  contributed  to  fill  the  moment  with  all 
the  happiness  which  the  benevolent  reader  will 
conceive  my  due,  after  sufferings  so  intense ;  to 
consummate  the  whole,  my  daughter  was  to  be  re- 
turned to  my  arms,  who  had  been  absent  more 


pt 


81 


fij 


ich  I 
rison* 
Miter 
learn 
J.     I 
th& 
their 
your 
JiJ  to 
shaJl 
Ivan* 
»,  sir. 


way 
We 

with 
le  for 
tier's 
sfied. 
tious 
here 

two 

>wed 

hich 

din 

ears 
tirifir 

laJi 
will 
;  to 
re- 
oxe 


than  two  years.  There  was  a  good  prospect  of 
our  son's  being  released  from  the  Indians.  The 
whole  formed  such  a  lucky  combination  of  fortu- 
nate events,  that  the  danger  of  twice  crossing  the 
ocean,  to  gain  our  native  shore,  vanished  in  a 
moment.  My  family  were  all  in  the  same  joyful 
mood,  and  hailed  the  happy  day  when  we  should 
isail  for  England. 

But  little  did  we  think  that  this  sunshine  of 
prosperity  was  so  soon  to  be  darkened  by  the 
Iieaviest  clouds  of  misfortune. 

I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  placing  much  depen- 
dence on  dreams,  but  the  one  I  shall  now  relate 
has  been  so  completely  followed,  in  the  course  of 
my  great  misfortune,  I  have  thought  proper  to  inr 
sert  it,  for  the  further  amusement,  if  not  the  satis- 
faction, of  the  reader.  1  thought  our  friend,  Mr. 
Perthieur,  came  with  a  paper  in  his  hand,  and  de- 
livered it  to  me.  On  opening  the  paper,  I  found 
two  rings,  the  one  a  very  beautiful  gold  dress  ring, 
the  other  a  mourning  ring,  which  were  presents, 
sent,  as  he  said,  to  me.  In  putting  the  dress  ring  on 
my  finger,  I  broke  it  into  many  pieces,  and  it  fell 
down,  and  I  could  not  find  the  pieces  again.  The 
mourning  ring  I  kept  whole,  and  put  it  on  my 
finger.  But  when  I  awoke,  behold,  it  was  a 
dream !  I  informed  my  husband  of  it  in  the 
morning,  and  said  to  him,  I  much  fear  some  fur- 
ther misfortune  will  happen  to  us.  V/hile  I  waa 
in  the  civil  jail,  this  dream  occurred,  and  whether 
it  was  a  prelude  to  what  follows,  the  reader  will 
judge  for  himself. 

Three  days  before  the  ^appointed  hour  for  sail- 
ing, the  ship  came  down  from  Montreal,  without 
my  daughter ;  in  a  few  moments  I  met  Mr.  Per- 


I 


vt 


.Q3 


tfaieur,  who  told  me  that  counter  orders  had  cotnef 
and  Mr.  Johnson  must  be  retained  a  prisoner  ;< 
only  my  two  little  daughters,  sister,  and  myself, 
could  go.  This  was  calamity  indeed  ;  to  attempt 
such  a  long,  wearisome  voyage,  without  money  and 
without  acquaintance,  and  to  leave  a  husband  and 
two  children  in  the  hands  of  enemies,  was  too 
abhorrent  for  reflection.  But  it  was  an  affair  of 
importance,  and  required  weighty  consideration. 
Accordingly,  the  next  day  a  solemn  council  of  all 
the  prisoners  in  the  city  was  held  at  the  coffee- 
house. Col.  Schuyler  was  president,  and,  after 
numerous  arguments  for  and  against  were  heard, 
it  was  voted,  by  a  large  majority,  that  I  should  go. 
I,  with  hesitation,  gave  my  consent.  Some,  per- 
haps, will  censure  the  measure  as  rash,  and  others 
may  applaud  my  courage  ;  but  I  had  so  long  been 
accustomed  to  danger  and  distress,  in  the  most 
menacing  forms  they  could  assume,  that  I  was 
now  almost  insensible  to  their  threats ;  and  this 
act  was  not  a  little  biased  by  desperation.  Life 
could  no  longer  retain  its  value,  if  lingered  out  in 
the  inimical  regions  of  Canada.  In  Europe,  I 
should  at  least  find  friends,  if  not  acquaintance ; 
and,  among  the  numerous  vessels  bound  to  Amer- 
ica, I  might  chance  to  get  a  passage.  But  then, 
to  leave  a  tender  husband,  who  had  so  long,  at  the 
hazard  of  his  life,  preserved  my  own — to  part, 
perhaps  forever,  from  two  children,  put  all  my 
resolution  to  the  test,  and  shook  my  boasted  firm- 
ness. 

Col.  Schuyler,  whom  we  ever  found  our  benev- 
olent friend,  promised  to  use  his  influence  for  Mr. 
Johnson's  release,  and  for  the  redemption  of  our 
children* 


/ 

/ 


83 

On  the  20tli  of  July,  we  went  on  board  the  ves- 
sel, accompanied  by  Mr.  Johnson,  who  went  with 
us  to  take  leave.  We  were  introduced  to  the  cap- 
tain, who  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  person  of  great 
civility ;  he  showed  us  the  best  cabin,  which  was 
to  be  the  place  of  our  residence,  and,  after  pro- 
mising my  husband  that  the  voyage  should  be  made 
as  agreeable  to  me  as  possible,  he  gave  orders  for 
weighing  anchor.  The  time  was  now  come  that 
we  must  part.  Mr.  Johnson  took  me  by  the  hand 
— our  tears  imposed  silence — I  saw  him  step  into 
the  barge — but  my  two  little  children,  sister,  and 
myself,  were  bound  for  Europe. 

We  fell  down  the  river  St.  Lawrence  but  a 
small  distance  that  night.  The  next  morning,  the 
captain,  with  a  cheerful  countenance,  came  to  our 
cabin,  and  invited  us  to  rise  and  take  our  leave  of 
Quebec  ,*  none  but  myself  complied,  and  I  gazed, 
as  long  as  sight  would  permit,  at  the  place  where 
I  had  left  my  dearest  friend. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Voyage  to  Plymouth, — Occurrences. — Sailing  from 
Plymouth  to  Portsmouth^  from  thence^  hy  the  loay 
of  Cork,  to  New  York. 

All  ray  fears  and  affliction  did  not  prevent  my 
feeling  some  little  joy  at  being  released  from  the 
jurisdiction  of  Frenchmen.  I  could  pardon  the 
Indians  for  their  vindictive  spirit,  because  they 
had  no  claim  to  the  benefits  of  civilization.  But 
the  French,  who  give  lessons  of  politeness  to  the 


/ 


*  .  t.. 


»      1  ' 


'  '•*% 


84 


rest  of  the  world,  can  derive  no  advantage  from 
the  plea  of  ignorance.  The  blind  superstition, 
which  is  inculcated  by  their  monks  and  friars, 
doubtless  stifles,  in  some  measure,  the  exertion  of 
pity  towards  their  enemies ;  and  the  common  herd, 
which  includes  almost  seven  eighths  of  their  num- 
ber, have  no  advantages  from  education.  To 
these  sources,  I  attribute  most  of  my  sufferings. 
But  I  found  some  benevolent  friends,  whose  gen- 
erosity I  shall  ever  recollect  with  the  warmest 
gratitude. 

The  commencement  of  the  voyage  had  every 
favorable  presage ;  the  weather  was  fine,  the  sail- 
ors cheerful,  and  the  ship  in  good  trim.  My  ac- 
commodations in  the  captain's  family  were  very 
commodious ;  a  boy  was  allowed  me,  for  my  par- 
ticular use.  We  sailed  with  excellent  fortune  till 
the  19th  of  August,  when  we  hove  in  sight  of  old 
Plymouth,  and  at  4  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  drop- 
ped anchor. 

The  next  day  all  but  myself  and  family  were 
taken  from  the  vessel ;  we  felt  great  anxiety  at 
being  left,  and  began  to  fear  that  fortune  was  not 
willing  to  smile  on  us,  even  on  these  shores.  We 
waited  in  despair  thirty  or  forty  hours,  and  found 
no  relief.  The  captain,  observing  our  desponden- 
cy, began  his  airs  of  gaiety,  to  cheer  us  ;  he  as- 
sured us  that  we  should  not  suffer — that  if  the 
English  would  not  receive  us,  he  would  take  us  to 
France,  and  make  us  happy.  But  at  last  an  offi- 
cer came  on  board,  to  see  if  the  vessel  was  pre- 
pared for  the  reception  of  French  prisoners.  We 
related  to  him  our  situation  ;  he  conducted  us  on 
shore,  and  applied  to  the  admiral  for  directions, 
who  ordered  us  lodgings,  and  the  king's  allow- 


-■■""^m- 


rom 
tiotif 
iars, 
[)n  of 
lerd, 
lum- 
To 
ngs. 
gen- 
nest 


pre- 
We 


85 


ance  of  two  shillings  sterling  per  day,  for  our  sup- 
port. Fortunately  we  were  lodged  in  a  house 
where  resided  Captain  John  Tufton  Mason,  whose 
name  will  be  familiar  to  the  inhabitants  of  New 
Hampshire,  on  account  of  his  patent.  He  very 
kindly  interested  himself  in  our  favor,  and  wrote 
to  Messrs.  Thomlinson  and  Apthorp,  agents  at 
London  for  the  province  of  New  Hampshire,  so- 
liciting their  assistance  in  my  behalf.  We  tarried 
at  Plymouth  but  a  fortnight,  during  which  time  I 
received  much  attention,  and  had  to  gratify  many 
inquisitive  friends  with  the  history  of  my  sufferings. 
There  was  one  little  circumstance  that  took 
place  while  we  were  at  Plymouth,  which  perhaps 
will  be  pleasing  to  some  of  my  young  readers. 
My  little  daughter.  Captive,  had  completely  ac- 
quired the  French  tongue,  so  as  to  be  very  pert 
and  talkative  in  it,  hut  she  could  not  speak  a  word 
of  English.  She  had  been  accustomed,  at  Que- 
bec, to  go  to  market,  or  any  wliere  among  the 
shops,  just  as  she  pleased,  to  buy  biscuit,  ginger- 
bread, or  any  sucli  thing  that  she  wanted  ;  and 
although  she  used  to  carry  her  money,  to  pay  for 
whatever  she  bought,  yet  she  generally  brought  it 
back  again,  and  sometimes  more  with  it.  Of 
course,  she  grew  very  bold ;  for  as  she  knew 
nothing  of  danger,  so  she  feared  nothing;  and 
although  the  sentinels  would  sometimes  use  very 
rough  language  to  her,  and  threaten  to  run  her 
through  with  the  bayonet,  yet  she  could  retun*  the 
same  language  to  them,  and  as  they  never  had 
hurt  her,  so  she  did  not  believe  they  ever  would ; 
and,  being  lawless,  she  went  where  she  had  a 
mind  to.  Polly,  remembering  the  English  tongue, 
never  obtained  the  French  so  as  to  speak  it  flu- 
.       5t 


,i? 


•   '    «M» 


-it. 

■   i 


^- 


'*$^ 


.  .1  i 


86 


^cntl/.     After  we  had  taken  lodgings  at  Plymouth, 
Captive  appeared  to  be  very  much  put  out  because 
she  could  not  make  the  English  understand  her ; 
nor  could  she  any  better  understand  them ;  and 
she  imputed  it  altogether  to  their  ignorance  and 
impertinence.     The  lady  of  the  house  gave  Polly 
a  biscuit,  which  being  observed  by  Captive,  she 
wanted  one  also.     Polly  offered  her  part  of  hers, 
but  she  would  not  touch  it ;  she  wanted  a  whole 
one,  but  could  not  make  her  want  known.     The 
lady  offered  her  other  things,  which  only  vexed 
her.     Being  very  much  fatigued  and  unwell,  I  had 
laid  down  in  my  chamber,  in  order  to  get  some 
rest,  when  my  little  Captive  came  up  to  me  with 
this  bitter  complaint,  and  said  the  lady  was  the 
most  impertinent  woman  she  ever  saw.     She  had 
given  Polly  a  biscuit,  and  had  not  given  her  any, 
and  when  she  asked  her  for  one  she  would  offer 
her  something  else.     Why,  my  dear,  said  1,  you 
are  a  little  French  girl,  and  these  are  English  peo- 
ple ;  the  lady  did  not  understand  you  ;  they  do 
not  talk  here  as  they  do  in  Quebec.     But  Captive 
was  very  much  vexed,  and  had  much  to   say, 
which   I  think  not  proper  to  recite,  and  finally 
concluded  by  saying  she  would  go  to  market  and 
buy  some   biscait   for  herself.     Why,  my  child, 
continued  I,  you  cannot  find  the  market  here ; 
you  will  get  lost,  or  the  market  women  will  take 
you  and  carry  you  off  and   sell  you,  and  I  shall 
never  see  you  again.     And  with  this  conversation 
I   pacified    her,  as  I   supposed,   and  fell  asleep. 
When  I  awoke,  not  observing  her  immediately,  I 
enquired,  *  Where   is   my  Captive  V     '  I  do  not 
know,'  said  Polly  ;  *  she  came  down  stairs  a  little 
while  ago,  and  said  she  would  go  to  market,  but  I 


man. 


as  to 
ing 


fioutb, 
$cause 
her; 

I  and 

!  and 

Polly 
e,  she 
•  hers, 

whole 
The 

vexed 
,Ihad 
:  some 
le  with 

as  the 
le  had 
Br  any, 
d  offer 

I,  you 
ish  peo- 
hey  do 
[Japtive 
to   say, 

finally 
set  and 
J  child, 
t  here; 
ill  take 

I  shall 
ersation 

asleep, 
ately,  I 

do  not 
}  a  little 
et,  but  I 


81 


told  her  she  must  not,  and  I  have  not  seen  her 
since.'     *  The  Lord  have  mercy,'  said  I,  *  she  is 
gone,  and  she  will  be  lostj  if  she  is   not  sought 
after  immediately.'     On  enquiry  of  a  market  wo- 
man, she  said  she  had  seen  a  little  girl,  in  a  very 
singular  dress,  siich  an  one  as  she  had  never  seen 
before,  almost  half  a  mile  off;  she  spoke  to  her, 
but  she  gave  her  no  answer*     I  immediately  sent 
a  servant  after  her.     She  was  completely  dressed 
in  the  French  fashion,  which  attracted  the  notice 
of  every  one  that  saw  her.     The  servant  found 
her  returning  home.     She  had  got  her  maushum^ 
which  is  a  little  sack  or  bag,  hanging  from  the 
left  shoulder,  full  of  biscuit,  and  appeared  to  be 
very  happy  until  the  servant  met  her.     But  her 
joy  was  soon  turned  into  sorrow.     The   servant 
attempted  to  carry  her,  and  she,  thinking  it  was 
somebody  that  had  come  to  carry  her  off,  as  I 
told  her  they  would,  screamed,  scratched  and  bit, 
till  his  face  was  besmeared  with  blood,  and  he 
was  glad  to  put  her  down.     Then  she  ran   to  get 
away  from  him,  and  fell  down  in  the   streets  till 
her  clothes  were  all  besmeared  with  mud  and  wa- 
ter.    But  he  kept  watch  of  her,  and  headed  her 
when  he  found  she  was  going  wrong,  until  he  got 
her  back.     And  in  a  sad  plight  they  appeared ; 
she  was  covered  with  mud  and  water,  (as  it  br*d 
lately  rained,  and  she  had  fallen  several  times  in 
the  gutters  of  the  streets,)  and  he  was  besmeared 
with  blood.     But  after  she  got  over  her  fright,  so 
as  to  give  a  history  of  her  adventure,  it  was  amus- 
ing indeed.     She   waited    till  she    found    I    was 
asleep,  when  she  crept  slyly  to  the  bed,  and  took 
some  coppers  out  of  my  pocket  that  hung  by  the 
head  of  my  bed,  and  off  she  started.     She  went 


■« 


/*l>. 


.» »«l 


■.•.««^ 


88 


into  a  number  of  shops,  but  she  saw  no  biscuit, 
neither  could  she  understand  a  word  that  any  of 
them  said.  But  she  concluded  they  were  all  im- 
pertinent creatures,  and  so  passed  on,  till  at  length 
she  came  to  a  house  where  she  saw  the  door  was 
open,  and  the  ladies  were  drinking  tea.  She 
went  in,  and  saw  biscuit,  which  was  the  thing  she 
was  after,  on  the  table.  She  threw  down  her 
money  upon  the  table,  and  took  her  hand  full  of 
biscuit,  and  went  out.  The  ladies  followed  her, 
and  came  out  gabbling  round  her,  blub,  lub,  lub, 
lub,  but  she  could  not  tell  a  word  they  said.  They 
however  filled  her  bag  with  biscuit,  which  was  all 
that  she  wanted,  and  she  set  out  for  home,  feeling 
as  happy  as  any  little  creature  could  well  be, 
until  she  met  the  servant  before  mentioned. 

But  if  the  reader  has  been  sufficiently  amused 
with  little  history,  he  will  now  be  kind  enough 
to  proceed  with  rje  in  my  narrative. 

Capt.  Mason  procured  me  j*  passage  to  Ports- 
mouth, in  the  Rainbow  man-of-war,  from  whence 
I  was  to  take  passage  in  a  packet  for  America. 
Just  as  I  stepped  on  board  the  Rainbow,  a  good 
lady,  with  her  son,  came  to  make  me  a  visit ;  her 
curiosity  to  see  a  person  of  my  description  was 
not  abated  by  my  being  on  my  passage  ;  she  said 
she  could  not  sleep  till  she  had  seen  the  person 
who  had  suffered  such  hard  fortune.  After  she 
had  asked  all  the  questions  that  time  would  allow 
of,  she  gave  me  a  guinea,  and  half  a  guinea  to  my 
sister,  and  a  muslin  handkerchief  to  each  of  our 
little  girls.  On  our  arrival  at  Portsmouth,  the 
packet  had  sailed  ;  the  captain  of  the  Rainbow, 
not  finding  it  convenient  to  keep  us  with  him,  in- 
troduced us  on  board  the  Royal  Ann, 


Wl 

and  tl 
gular, 
many 
many 
on  boj 
delica 
officer 
agreei 
Wh 
follow 
tation 
conspj 


Ma] 
answe 
Mr.  1 
with  I 
liberty 
Mada] 
you, 
write 
imme< 
to  do, 
our  fri 

Ih^ 
charil 
comi 
togetl 


Mr 


iscuit, 

my  of 

11  im- 

length 

Dr  was 

She 

ng  she 

»^n  her 

full  of 

3d  her, 

lb,  lub, 

They 

was  all 

feeling 

^ell  be, 

• 

amused 
enough 

Ports- 
whence 
merica. 
a  good 
sit;  her 
on  was 
ihe  said 
person 
'ter  she 
d  allow 
a  to  my 

of  our 
th,  the 
linbow, 
lim,  in- 


89 


Wherever  we  lived,  we  found  the  best  friends 
and  the  politest  treatment.  It  will  be  thought  sin- 
gular, that  a  defenceless  woman  should  suffer  so 
many  changes,  without  meeting  some  insults,  and 
many  incivilities.  But,  during  my  long  residence 
on  board  the  various  vessels,  I  received  the  most 
delicate  attention  from  my  companions.  The 
officers  were  assiduous  in  making  my  situation 
agreeable,  and  readily  proffered  their  services. 

While  on  board  the  Royal  Ann,  1  received  the 
following  letters  ;  the  reader  will  excuse  the  reci- 
tation ;  it  would  be  ingratitude  not  to  record  such 
conspicuous  acts  of  benevolence  : — 

Plymouth,  Sept.   13,  1757. 

Madam: — Late  last  post  night,  I  received  an 
answer  from  Mr.  Apthorp,  who  is  partner  with 
Mr.  Thomlinson,  the  agent  for  New  Hampshire, 
with  a  letter  enclosed  to  you,  which  gave  you 
liberty  to  draw  on  him  for  fifteen  guineas.  As 
Madam  Hornech  was  just  closing  her  letter  to 
you,  I  gave  it  her,  to  enclose  for  you ;  I  now 
write  again  to  London  on  your  behalf.  You  must 
immediately  write  Mr.  Apthorp  what  you  intend 
to  do,  and  what  further  you  would  have  him  and 
our  friends  at  London  do  for  you. 

I  hope  you  have  received  the  benefaction  of  the 
charitable  ladies  in  this  town.  All  friends  here 
commiserate  your  misfortunes,  and  wish  you  well, 
together  with  your  sister  and  children. 

Your  friend  and  countryman  to  serve, 
V-  John  T.  Mason. 

Mrs.  Johnson.  /^  ..v  f"     .-!'..;;-;      '.    •-'. 


-  *' 


!  i-  ft 


•H 


m 


\  *  ■• 

! 


y.  V 


90 


London,  Sept,  7,  1757. 
Madam  : — I  received  r*  letter  from  Capt.  Ma- 
son, dated  the  thirtieth  of  last  month,  giving  an 
account  of  your  unfortunate  situation,  and  yester- 
day Mr.  Thomlinson,  who  is  ill,  in  the  country, 
sent  me  your  letter,  together  with  Capt.  Mason's 
to  him,  with  the  papers  relative  to  you.  In  con- 
sequence of  which,  I  this  day  applied  to  a  number 
of  gentlemen  in  your  behalf,  who  very  readily 
gave  their  assistance  ;  but,  as  I  am  a  stranger  to 
the  steps  you  intend  to  pursue,  I  can  only  give  you 
liberty,  at  present,  to  draw  on  me  for  ten  or  fifteen 
guineas,  for  which  sum  your  bill  shall  be  paid, 
and  when  you  furnish  me  with  information,!  shall 
very  cheerfully  give  any  furtherance  in  my  power, 
to  your  relief,  when  I  shall  also  send  you  a  list  of 
your  benefactors. 
I  am,  madam, 

.  Your  most  humble  servant, 

John  Apthorp. 

Mrs.  Susannah  Johnson. 

•    ••  .  ♦     ... 

LETTER    FROM    H.  GROVE. 


It 


I  have  now  the  pleasure  to  let  dear  Mrs.  John- 
son know  the  goodness  of  Mrs.  Hornech ;  she  has 
collected  seven  pounds  for  you,  and  sent  it  to  Mrs. 
Brett,  who  lives  in  the  yard  at  Portsmouth,  to  beg 
her  favors  to  you  in  any  thing  she  can  do  to  help 
or  assist  you.  She  is  a  good  lady ;  do  go  to  her, 
and  let  her  know  your  distress.  Capt.  Mason  has 
got  a  letter,  this  post,  but  he  is  not  at  home  ;  can- 
not tell  you  further.  You  will  excuse  this  scrawl, 
likewise  my  not  enlara^ing,  as  Mr.  Hornech  waits 
to  send  it  away.     Only  believe  me,  madam,  you 


ing 


91 


e  paid, 

I  shall 

power, 

list  of 


lORP. 

■   ■*!' 

.  John- 
she  has 
to  Mrs. 
,  to  beg 
;o  help 
to  her, 
son  has 
;  can- 
scrawl, 
I  waits 
no,  you 


have  my  earnest  prayers  to  God,  to  help  and 
assist  you.  My  niamu's  coinplimenls,  with  mine, 
and  bci^s  to  wait  on  you,  and  believe  me,  dear 
Mrs.  Johnson,  yours  in  all  events  to  serve  you. 

Hannau  Grove. 
Sundai/ EvCf  \0  o\'lo(k, 

I  received  the  donation,  and  Mr.  Apthorp   sent 

ily  lament  that 


the  fifti 


n< 


I 


incej 

lie  onutted  sencUni^  me  tne   names  ot  my  bene- 
factors. 

Tlie  captain  of  the  Tloyal  Ann,  supposing  my 
situation   with  him   miji^lit  not  be  so  convenient, 
applied  to  the  mayor  for  a  permit  for  me  to  take 
lodginn^s  in  the  city,  which  was  granted.     I  took 
new  lodginjj;s,  where  I  tarried  three  or  four  days, 
when   orders  came   for   me   to  he   on   board  the 
Orange  man-of-war  in  three  hours,  which   was  to 
sail  for  America.    We  made  all  possible  despatch, 
but  when  we  got  to  the  shore,  we  were  astonished 
to  find  the  sliip  too  far  under  way  to  be  overtaken. 
No  time  was  to  be  h)st ;  I  applied  to  a  waterman, 
to  carry  us  to  a  merchantman,  who  was  weighing 
anchor  at  a  distance,  to  go  in  the  same  fleet.     He 
hesitated  long  enough  to  pronounce  a  chapter  of 
oaths,  and  rowed  us  off.     When  we   came  to  the 
vessel,  1  petitioned  the  captain  to  take  us  on  board, 
till  he  overtook  the  Orange.    He  directly  flew  into 
a  violent  passion,  and  offered  greater  insults  than  I 
had  ever  received  during  my  whole  voyage ;  he 
swore  we  were  women  of  bad  fame,  wno   wished 
to  follow  the  army,  and  that  he  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  us.     I  begged  him  to  calm  his  rage, 
and  we  would  convince  him  of  his  error.     But  for- 
tunately the  victualler  of  the  fleet  happened  to  be 
6 


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23  WBT  MAIK  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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9'2 


in  the  ship,  who  at  this  moment  stepped  forward 
with  his  roll  of  names,  and  told  the  outrageous 
captain  that  he  would  soon  convince  him  whether 
we  deserved  notice,  by  searching  his  list.  He 
soon  found  our  names,  and  the  captain  began  to 
beg  pardon  He  took  us  on  board,  and  apologized 
for  his  rudeness.  We  sailed  with  a  fair  wind 
for  Cork,  where  the  fleet  took  provision.  We 
tarried  a  fortnight  in  this  place,  during  which  time 
the  captain  of  the  Orange  came  on  board  to  see 
me,  and  to  offer  me  a  birth  in  his  vessel ;  but  that 
being  a  battle  ship,  it  was  thought  best  for  me  to 
stay  where  I  then  was.  After  weighing  anchor  at 
Cork,  we  had  a  passage  of  seven  weeks,  remarka- 
bly pleasant,  to  New  York.  On  the  tenth  of 
December,  we  dropped  anchor  at  Sandy  Hook  ; 
on  the  eleventh,  I  had  the  supreme  felicity  to  find 
myself  on  shore  in  my  native  country,  after  an 
absence  of  three  years,  three  months,  and  eleven 
days. 


CHAPTER  X.  :  r 

The  History  ends, 

I  MIGHT  descant  for  many  a  page  on  the  felicity 
I  felt  on  being  once  more  in  my  own  country  ; 
but  others  can  guess  my  feelings  better  than  1  can 
tell  them.  The  mayor  of  New  York  ordered 
lodgings  for  us ;  here  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing my  friend,  Col.  Schuler,  who  gave  me  much 
information  about  affairs  in  Canada ;  he  told  me 
that  my  husband  had  been  released,  and  taken 
passage  in  a  cartel  ship  for  Halifax,  and  that  he 


had 
sum 

escal 
Yor] 
Tl 
thai 
on 
and 
his 
the 
towi 
ofte 


..'* 


93 


,;<'"'•  ^'• 


had  redeemed  my  son  from  the  Indians,  for  the 
sum  of  five  hundred  livres. 

My  fellow-prisoner,  Labarree,  had  made  his 
escape  from  the  French,  and  had  been  in  New 
York  a  few  days  before,  on  his  way  home. 

The  reader  may  reasonably  suppose  that  a  more 
than  ordinary  friendship  might  subsist  between  us, 
on  account  of  his  preserving  the  life  of  my  infant, 
and  rendering  every  assistance  which  it  was  in 
his  power  to  perform  for  us  on  our  journey  through 
the  wilderness.  Mr.  Labarree  resided  in  Charles- 
town,  about  two  miles  from  where  I  lived.  We 
often  visited  each  other  after  our  return,  and  fre- 
quently amused  ourselves  in  the  recollection  of 
our  journey  with  the  Indians.  He  amused  him- 
self much  with  my  daughter  Captive,  in  her  child- 
hood, and  was  always  that  benevolent  friend 
through  life,  which  was  so  peculiarly  manifested 
on  the  day  and  journey  of  our  captivity.  It  so 
happened,  that  my  daughter  was  in  Charlestown 
at  the  time  of  his  last  sickness  and  death.  She 
visited  him,  and  tarried  several  days,  and  attend- 
ed him  but  only  a  few  days  before  his  death. 
He  often  mentioned  with  satisfaction  the  peculiar 
situation  of  our  captivity ;  little,  he  said,  did  he 
think  that  he  was  preserving  the  life  of  her  in  his 
arms,  (speaking  of  my  daughter,)  who  should  be 
one  to  attend  him  in  his  last  days,  but  that  he  was 
happy  to  have  her  with  him,  for  she  ever  appeared 
to  him  almost  as  near  as  one  of  his  own  children. 
Mr.  Labarree  was  one  of  those  good  men  who  feel 
for  the  misfortunes  of  others.  He  died  August 
3d,  1803,  aged  79.years. 

We   tarried  in  New  York  ten  days,  then  took 
water  passage  for  New  Haven,  where^I  had  the 


^'7  ' 


t]^ 


,i"^' 


94 


good  fortune  to  find  a  number  of  officers,  who  had 
been  stationed  at  Charlestown  the  preceding  sum- 
mer, who  gratified  my  curiosity  with  intelligence 
respecting  my  relations  and  friends  in  that  place. 
Some  of  these  gentlemen,  among  whom  was  Col. 
Whiting,  kindly  undertook  to  assist  us  on  our 
journey  home,  by  the  way  of  Springfield.  At 
Hartford  we  found  some  gentlemen  who  were 
bound  for  Charlestown ;  they  solicited  my  sister* 
to  go  in  company  with  them,  to  which  she  as- 
sented* 

When  within  half  a  dozen  miles  of  Springfield, 
Mr.  Ely,  a  benevolent  friend  of  Mr.  Johnson's, 
sent  his  two  sons  with  a  sleigh,  to  convey  me  to 
his  house,  where  I  proposed  staying  till  some  of 
my  friends  could  hear  of  my  arrival.  Fortunately, 
Mr.  Johnson  about  the  same  time  arrived  at  Bos- 
ton, but  misfortune  had  not  yet  filled  the  measure 
of  his  calamity.  He  had  no  sooner  landed,  than 
he  was  put  under  guard,  on  suspicion  of  not  per- 
forming his  duty  in  the  redemption  of  the  Canada 
prisoners,  which  suspicion  was  occasioned  by  his 
remissness  in  producing  his  vouchers.  But  the 
following  certificate  procured  his  liberty : — 

This  is  to  certify,  whom  it  may  concern,  that 
the  bearer.  Lieutenant  James  Johnson,  inhabitant 
in  the  town  of  Charlestown,  in  the  province  of 
New  Hampshire,  in  New  England,  who,  together 
with  his  family,  were  taken  by  the  Indians,  on  the 
30th  of  August,  1754,  has  ever  since  continued  a 
steady  and  faithful  subject  to  his  majesty.  King 
George,  and  has  used  his  utmost  endeavors  to  re- 

*  Misa  Miriam  Willard  wib  afterwards  married  to  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Whitney,  of  Shirley,  JMassachiisetts* 


95 


to  had 
sum- 
gen  ce 
place. 
sCol. 
1  our 
At 
were 
ster* 
pe  as- 

ffield, 
son's, 
ne  to 
ne  of 
ately, 

Bos- 
asure 

than 
t  per- 
nada 
y  his 
t  the 


that 
itant 
;e  of 
3th  er 
n  the 
ed  a 
King 
0  re- 
Rev. 


deem  his  own  family,  and  all  others  belonging  to 
the  province  aforesaid,  that  were  in  the  hands  of 
the  French  and  Indians,  which  he  cannot  yet  ac- 
complish, and  that  both  himself*  and  family  have 
undergone  innumerable  hardships  and  afflictions 
since  they  have  been  prisoners  in  Canada. 

In  testimony  of  which,  we  the  subscribers,  offi- 
cers in  his  Britannic  majesty's  service,  and  now 
prisoners  of  war  at  Cluebec,  have  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  grant  him  this  certificate,  and  do  recom- 
mend him  as  an  object  worthy  the  aid  and  com- 
passion of  every  honest  Englishman. 

Peter  Schuyleii, 


Signed,  n 

Quebec,  Sept.  16,  1757. 


Andrew  Watkins, 
William  Martin, 
William  Padgett. 


To  compensate  him  for  this  misfortune.  Gov. 
Pownal  recommended  a  grant,  which  the  general 
court  complied  with,  and  gave  him  one  hundred 
dollars  from  the  treasury,  and  he  was  recorded  a 
faithful  subject  of  King  George. 

After  his  dismission  from  the  guards  in  Boston, 
he  proceeded  directly  for  Charlestown.  When 
within  fifteen  miles  of  Springfield,  he  was  met  by 
-a  gentleman  who  had  just  before  seen  me,  who 
gave  him  the  best  news  he  could  have  heard  ;  al- 
though it  was  then  late  at  night,  he  lost  not  a  mo- 
ment. At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  first 
of  January,  1758,  I  again  embraced  my  dearest 
,  friend.  Happy  new  year  !  With  pleasure  would 
I  describe  my  emotions  of  joy,  could  language 
paint  them  sufficiently  forcible ;  but  the  feeble  pen 
shrinks  from  the  task. 


.<,;  I'* 


96 

Charlestown  was  still  a  frontier  town,  and  suf- 
fered from  savage  depredations,  which  rendered  it 
an  improper  residence  for  me ;  consequently  I 
^ent  to  Lancaster. 

Mr.  Johnson  in  a  few  days  set  out  for  New 
York,  to  adjust  his  Canada  accounts.  But  on  his 
journey  he  was  persuaded  by  Gov.  Pownal  to  take 
a  captain's  commission,*  and  join  the  forces  bound 


fori 

of 

to 

maj 

was 


*This  commission  was  dated  at  Boston,  the  30th  day  of 
March,  in  the  31st  year  of  the  reign  of  his  majesty,  King  George 
the  Second,  A.D.,  1758,  and  commissioned  him  to  be  a  captain 
of  a  company  in  the  battalion  of  light  infantry,  to  be  formed  out 
of  the  forces  then  raised  by  the  governor,  for  a  general  invasion 
of  Canada,  commanded  by  Colonel  Oliver  Patridge. 

When  he  arrived  at  Fort  Edward,  three  companies  were  se- 
lected, under  the  immediate  care  and  command  of  Maj.  Hawks, 
and  Capt.  Johnson  was  one  of  them.  There  were  many  there 
of  the  soldiers  who  were  acquainted  with  Capf.  Johnson,  and 
desired  to  be  enrolled  in  his  company,  which  was  complied  with. 
Deacon  Thomas  Putnam,  now  of  Charlestown,  engaged^^in  his 
company  as  a  serjeant,  and  marched  on  with  him  to  Ticonderoga, 
was  with  him  when  the  battle  began,  in  which  Capt.  Johnson 
was  killed,  and  gives  the  following  account  of  the  same  :— 

*  On  the  5th  of  July,  1748,  Capt.  Johnson's  company  was  or- 
dered on  the  left  wing  of  the  army,  and  we  arrived  within  gun 
fihot  of  the  breastwork,  when  the  enemy  fired  upon  us.  We  in 
turn  fired  at  them,  whenever  we  had  a  chance  to  get  sight  at 
their  heads  above  the  breastwork,  till  we  had  discharged  a  dozen 
or  more  shots,  at  which  time  the  firing  appeared  to  cease  on  the 
part  of  the  enemy.  Immediately  the  enemy  hoisted  a  flag, 
which  was  supposed  by  Capt.  Johnson  and  others  to  be  a  signal 
that  they  were  about  to  give  up  to  our  army.  A  part  of  his  com- 
pany bemg  still  at  some  distance  to  the  left,  Capt.  Johnson  or- 
dered me  to  go  immediately  to  the  left,  to  have  those  cease 
firing,  saying,  with  joy,  "  The  day  (or  battle)  is  ours."  I  immedi- 
diately  set  out,  climbing  over  brush,  trees,  and  logs,  laying 
eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  ground.  When  stepping  on  a  tree, 
some  rods  distance  from  where  I  left  Capt.  Johnson,  there  was 
a  full  volley  fired  from  the  enemy.  I  escaped  from  being  wound- 
ed, a  ball  only  grazing  mji  hat.  I  let  myself  down  as  soon  as  I 
could,  and  made  the  best  way  possible  to  escape  their  fire.  I 
soon  found  some  of  my  companions  that  were  with  Capt.  John- 
son, who  gave  me  the  melancholy  tidings  of  his  being  shot 
■through  the  head,  and  expired  instantly  on  the  spot  where  I  left 


97 


for  Ticonderoga,  where  he  was  killed,  on  the  8th 
of  July  following,  in  the  battle  that  proved  fatal 
to  Lord  How,  while  fighting  for  his  country.  Hu- 
manity will  weep  with  me.  The  cup  of  sorrow 
was  now  replete  with  bitter  drops.  All  my  former 
miseries  were  lost  in  the  affliction  of  a  widow. 

In  October,  1758,  I  was  informed  that  my  son 
Sylvanus  was  at  Northampton,  sick  of  a  scald.  I 
hastened  to  the  place,  and  found  him  in  a  deplo- 
rable situation  ;  he  was  brought  there  by  Major 
Putnam,  afterwards  Gen.  Putnam,  with  Mrs.  How 
and  her  family,  who  had  returned  from  captivity. 
The  town  of  Northampton  had  taken  the  charge 
of  him ;  his  situation  was  miserable  ;  when  I 
found  him,  he  had  no  recollection  of  me,  but, 
after  some  conversation,  he  had  some  confused 
ideas  of  me,  but  no  remembrance  cf  his  father. 
It  was  four  years  since  I  had  seen  him  ;  he  was 
then  eleven  years  old.  During  his  absence,  he 
had  entirely  forgotten  the  English  language,  spoke 
a  little  broken  Erench,  but  was  perfect  in  Indian. 
He  had  been  with  the  savages  three  years,  and 
one  year  with  the  French.  But  his  habits  were 
somewhat  Indian  ;  he  had  been  with  them  in 
their  hunting  excursions,  and  suffered  numerous 

him.  His  body  was  left  on  the  ground,  but  his  arms  and  equip, 
age,  together  with  some  of  his  clothing,  were  brought  off.  I 
was  acquainted  with  hi»n  from  my  youth — knew  him  in  the  for- 
mer war,  when  a  lieutenant  under  the  command  of  Edward  Hart- 
well,  Esq.,  posted  at  Lunenburg,  Townsend,  and  Narranganset 
No.  2,  dt^  He  was  universally  beloved  by  his  company,  and 
equally  lamented  at  his  death.  He  was  the  soldier's  Jriend,  and 
a  friend  to  his  country — was  of  easy  manners,  pleasant,  good 
humored,  yet  strict  to  obey  his  orders,  and  see  that  those  under 
his  command  did  the  same.  The  loss  to  his  wife  and  family  was 
irreparable  j  his  acquaintance  also  lost  an  agreeable  companion, 
a  valuable  member  of  society,  as  well  as  a  faithful  and  valiant 
soldier  / 

6* 


h^ 


98 


hardships;   he   could  brandish  a  tomahawk   or 
bend  the  bow;  but  these  habits  wore  off  by  de*' 
grees.     I  carried  him  from  that  place  to  Lancas- 
ter, where  he  hved  a  few  years  with  CoJ.  Aaron 
Willard. 

I  hved  in  Lancaster  till  October,  1759,  when  I 
returned  to  old  Charlestown.  The  sight  of  my 
former  residence  afforded  a  strange  mixture  of  joy 
and  grief,  while  the  desolations  of  war,  and  the 
loss  of  a  number  of  dear  and  valuable  friends, 
combined  to  give  the  place  an  air  of  melancholy* 
Soon  after  my  arrival.  Major  Rogers  returned 
from  an  expedition  against  the  village  St.  Fran- 
cis, which  he  had  destroyed,  and  killed  most  of 
the  inhabitants.  He  brought  with  him  a  young 
Indian  prisoner,  who  stopped  at  my  house ;  the 
moment  he  saw  me,  he  cried,  *  My  God,  my  God, 
here  is  my  sister.'  It  was  my  little  brother  Sa- 
batis,  who  formerly  used  to  bring  the  cows  for  me,  * 
when  I  lived  at  my  Indian  masters.  He  was 
transported  to  see  me,  and  declared  that  he  was 
still  my  brother,  and  I  must  be  his  sister.  Poor 
fellow !  The  fortune  of  war  had  left  him  without 
a  single  relation ;  but  with  his  country's  enemies 
he  could  find  one  who  too  sensibly  felt  his  mise- 
ries ;  I  felt  the  purest  pleasure  in  administering 
to  his  comfort. 

I  was  extremely  fortunate  in  receiving,  by  one 
of  Major  Rogers's  men,  a  bundle  of  Mr.  John- 
son's papers,  which  he  found  in  pillaging  St: 
Francis.  The  Indians  took  them  when  we  were 
captivated,  and  they  had  lain  at  St.  Francis  five 
years. 

Sabatis  went  from  Charlestown  to  Crown  Point 
with  Major  Rogers.     When  he  got  to  Otter  Creek, 


99 


.    I.'- 


;n  I 


of 


he  met  my  son  Sylvanus,  who  was  in  the  army 
with  Col.  Willard ;  he  recognized  him,  and  clasp- 
ing him  in  his  arms.  *  My  God,'  says  he,  *  the 
fortune  of  war !' — I  shall  ever  remember  this 
young  Indian  with  alTection  ;  he  had  a  high  sense 
of  honor  and  good  behaviour;  he  was  affable, 
good  natured,  and  polite. 

My  daughter  Susannah  was  still  in  Canada ;  but 
•as  1  had  the  fullest  assurances  that  every  atten- 
tion was  paid  to  her  education  and  welfare  by  her 
three  mothers,  I  felt  less  anxiety  than  I  otherwise 
might  have  done. 

Every  one  will  imagine  that  I  have  paid  afflic- 
tion her  utmost  demand ;  the  pains  of  imprison- 
ment, the  separation  from  my  children,  the  keen 
sorrow  occasioned  by  the  death  of  a  butchered 
father,  and  the  severe  grief  arising  from  my  hus- 
band's death,  will  amount  to  a  sum,  perhaps  un- 
equalled. But  still  my  family  must  be  doomed  to 
further  and  severe  persecutions  from  the  savages. 
In  the  commencement  of  the  summer  of  1760,  my 
brother-in-law,  Mr.  Joseph  Willard,  son  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Willard  of  Rutland,  who  was  killed  by 
the  Indians  in  Lovell's  war,  with  his  wife  and  dye 
children,  who  lived  but  two  miles  distant  from 
me,  were  taken  by  a  party  of  Indians.  They  were 
carried  much  the  same  rout  that  I  was  to  Mon- 
treal. Their  journey  of  fourteen  days,  through 
the  wilderness,  was  a  series  of  miseries  unknowi;i 
to  any  but  those  who  have  suffered  Indian  capti- 
vity ;  they  lost  two  children,  whose  deaths  M^ere 
owing  to  savage  barbarity.  The  history  of  their 
captivity  would  almost  equal  my  own;  but  the 
reader's  commiseration  and  pity  mu^t  now  be 


Ml 


100 

Exhausted.  No  more  of  anguish — tio  more  of 
sufferings. 

They  arrived  at  Montreal  a  few  days  before  the 
French  surrendered  it  to  the  English,  and  after 
four  months'  absence  returned  home,  and  brought 
my  daughter  Susanna  to  my  nrm^  ;  while  I  rejoiced 
at  again  meeting  my  child,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
for  above  five  years,  I  felt  extremely  grateful  to 
the  Misses  Jaissons,  for  the  affectionate  attention 
they  had  bestowed  on  her.  As  they  had  received 
her  as  their  child,  they  had  made  their  affluent 
fortune  subservient  to  her  best  interest.  To  give 
her  the  accomplishments  of  a  polite  education, 
had  been  their  principal  care  ;  she  had  contracted 
an  ardent  love  for  them,  which  will  never  be  obli- 
terated. Their  parting  was  an  affectionate  scene 
of  tears.  They  never  forgot  her  during  their 
lives ;  she  has  eight  letters  from  them,  which  are 
proofs  of  the  warmest  friendship.  My  daugliter 
did  not  know  me  at  her  return,  and  spoke  nothing 
but  French  ;  my  son  spoke  Indian,  so  that  my 
family  was  a  mixture  of  nations. 

Mr.  Farnswofth,  my  only  fellow-prisoner  whose 
return  I  have  not  mentioned,  came  home  a  little 
before. 

Thus,  by  the  goodness  of  Providence,  we  all 
returned,  in  the  course  of  six  painful  years,  to  the 
place  from  whence  we  were  taken.  The  long 
period  of  our  captivity,  and  the  severity  of  our 
sufferings,  will  be  called  uncommon  and  unprece- 
dented. But  we  even  found  some  friends  to  pity, 
among  our  most  persecuting  enemies  ;  and,  from 
the  various  shapes  in  which  mankind  appeared,  we 
learned  many  valuable  lessons.  Whether  in  the 
wilds  of  Canada,  the -horrid  jails  of  t^uebec,  or  in 


101 


<  1-^ 


re   of 


our  voyage  to  Europe,  daily  occurrences  happen- 
ed, to  convince  us  that  the  passions  of  men  are  as 
various  as  their  complexions.  And  although  my 
sufferings  were  often  increased  hy  the  selfishness 
of  this  world's  spirit,  yet  the  numerous  testimonies 
of  generosity  I  received,  bids  me  suppress  the 
charge  of  neglect,  or  want  of  benevolence.  That 
1  have  been  an  unfortunate  woman,  all  will  grant ; 
yet  my  misfortunes,  while  they  enriched  my  expe- 
rience, and  taught  me  the  value  of  patience,  have 
increased  my  gratitude  to  the  Author  of  all  bless- 
ings, whose  goodness  and  mercy  have  preserved 
my  life  to  the  present  time. 

During  the  time  of  my  widowhood,  misfortune 
and  disappointment  were  my  intimate  companions. 
In  the  settlementof  my  husband's  estate,  the  delay 
and  perplexity  was  distressing.  I  made  three 
journeys  to  Portsmouth,  fourteen  to  Boston,  and 
three  to  Springfield,  to  effect  the  settlement. 
Whether  my  captivity  had  taught  me  to  be  un- 
grateful, or  whether  imagination  formed  a  cata- 
logue of  evils,  I  will  not  pretend  to  say ;  but,  from 
the  year  1754  to  the  present  day,  greater  misfor- 
tunes have  apparently  fallen  to  my  share,  than  to 
mankind  in  general,  and  the  meteor  happiness 
has  eluded  my  grasp.  The  life  of  a  widow  is 
peculiarly  afflictive  ;  but  my  numerous  and  long 
journies  over  roads  eminently  bad,  and  incidents 
that  seemed  to  baffle  all  my  plans  and  foresight, 
render  mine  more  unfortunate  than  common. 

But  I  found  many  attentive  friepds,  whose  as- 
sistance and  kindness  will  always  claim  my  grati- 
tude. Col.  White,  of  Leominster,  with  whom  I 
had  lived  from  the  time  I  was  eight  years  old  until 
1  married,  was  extremely  affectionate  and  kind ; 


cf  I.  •• 


U 


102 


in  his  liouse  I  found  a  weico?  e  home*  Mr.  Sam 
uel  Ely,  of  Springfield,  who  was  the  friend  of 
my  husband,  rendered  me  numerous  kindnesses. 
Col.  Murray,  of  Rutland,  and  Col.  Chandler,  of 
Worcester,  were  very  friendly  and  kind.  Mr. 
Clarke,  deputy  secretary,  Gov.  Pownall,  and  Gov. 
Wentworth,  exerted  their  influence  for  me  in 
attempting  to  procure  a  grant  from  the  general 
assembly. 

In  one  of  my  journiesto  Portsmouth,  I  conversed 
with  Capt.  Adams,  who  was  in  Europe  at  the  time 
I  was.  He  informed  me  that  while  there,  Mr. 
Apthorp  gave  him  fourteen  pounds  sterling,  for  the 
purpose  of  conveying  me  and  my  familyto  Ameri- 
ca ;  but  my  sailing  with  the  convoy  prevented  my 
receiving  this  kindness. 

During  the  four  years  of  my  widowhood,  I  was 
in  quite  an  unsettled  situation;  sometimes  receiv-, 
ing  my  children  who  were  returning  from  captivi- 
ty, and  at  others  settling  the  estate  of  my  deceased 
husband.  In  October,  1759, 1  moved  to  Charles-, 
town,  and  took  possession  of  my  patrimony,  con-' 
sisting  of  a  house,  which  Col.  Whiting  had  gene- 
rously assisted  my  mother  in  building ;  in  copart- 
nership with  my  brother,  Moses  Willard,  I  kept  a 
small  store,  which  was  of  service  in  supporting  my 
family,  and  settling  my  husband's  estate.  I  have 
received,  by  petitioning,  from  the  general  assem- 
bly of  New  Hampshire,  forty-two  pounds,  to  in- 
demnify myself  and  family  for  losses  sustained  by 
our  country's  enemies.  This  was  of  eminent  ser- 
vice to  me.  Mr.  Johnson  left  with  Mr?  Charles 
Apthorp,  of  Boston,  the  sum  which  my  son's  re- 
demption cost,  for  Col.  Schuyler,  who  had  paid 


my 


103 


the  same.  But  the  general  assembly  of  Massa- 
chusetts afterwards  paid  Col.  Schuyler  his  demand 
for  redeeming  my  son. 

By  Mr.  Johnson  I  had  seven  children ;  two  sons 
and  a  daughter  died  in  infancy.  Sylvanus,  with 
whom  the  reader  is  acquainted,  now  lives  in 
Charlestown.  Susanna  married  Capt.  Samu'>l 
Wetherbee,  and  has  been  the  mother  of  fifteen 
children,  among  which  were  five  at  two  births. 
Polly  married  Col.  Timothy  Bedel,  of  Haverhill, 
and  died  in  August,  1789.  Captive  married  Col. 
George  Kimball. 

In  the  year  1 762, 1  married  Mr.  John  Hastings ; 
he  was  one  of  the  first  settlers  in  Charlestown ; 
I  recollect  to  have  seen  him  when  I  visited  the 
place  in  the  year  1744 ;  he  suffered  much  by  the 
Indians,  and  assisted  in  defending  the  town  during 
the  wars.  By  him  I  had  seven  children  ;  one 
daughter  and  four  sons  died  in  their  infancy. 
Theodosia  is  married  to  Mr.  Stephen  Hasham. 
Randilla  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-two ;  she  lived 
from  her  infancy  with  Mr.  Samuel  Taylor,  of 
Rockingham,  by  whom  she  was  treated  with  great 
affection.  I  have  had  thirty-eight  grandchildren, 
and  twenty-eight  great  grandchildren.  I  lived, 
till  within  a  few  years,  on  the  same  spot  where 
the  Indians  took  us  from  in  1754  ;  but  the  face  of 
nature  has  so  changed,  that  old  savage  fears  are 
all  banished. 

I  have  lived  to  see  good  days  after  so  many 
scenes  of  sorrow  and  affliction.  I  have  participat- 
ed largely  in  the  comforts  of  life,  although  the 
winter  of  my  life  has  not  been  rendered  so  happy 
as  I  could  have  wished. 

My  whole  life  has  been  a  Strang:**  mixture  of 


■M 


104 


good  and  evil,  of  pleasure  and  afHiction,  and  1 
hope  and  trust  I  have  profited  by  the  reality,  that 
others  may  be  profited  by  the  history,  which  I 
leave  as  a  legacy  to  my  friends,  as  I  am  now  wait- 
ing my  departure,  when  I  hope  to  leave  the  world 
in  peace.  My  vacant  hours  I  have  often  employed 
in  reflecting  on  the  various  scenes  that  have  marked 
the  different  stages  of  my  life.  When  viewing  the 
present  rising  generation,  in  the  bloom  of  health, 
and  enjoying  those  gay  pleasures  which  shed  their 
exhilerating  influence  so  plentifully  in  the  morn 
of  life,  I  look  back  to  my  early  days,  when  I  too 
was  happy,  and  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  good 
fortune.  Little  do  they  think,  that  the  meridian 
of  their  lives  can  possibly  be  rendered  miserable 
by  captivity  or  a  prison  ;  as  little,  too,  did  I  think 
that  my  gilded  prospects  could  be  obscured  ;  but 
Xt  was  the  happy  delusion  of  youth,  and  I  fervent- 
ly wish  there  was  no  deception.  But  that  Being, 
who  *  sits  Hpon  the  circle  of  the  earth,  and  views 
the  inhabitants  as  grasshoppers,*  allots  our  for- 
tunes. 

Althougli  1  have  drank  so  largely  from  the  cup 
of  sorrow,  yet  the  many  happy  days  I  have  seen 
may  be  considered  as  no  small  compensation. 
Twice  has  my  country  been  ravaged  by  war  since 
my  remembrance  ;  I  have  detailed  the  share  I 
bore  in  the  first ;  in  the  last,  although  the  place  in 
which  I  lived  was  not  a  field  of  bloody  battle,  yet 
its  vicinity  to  Ticonderoga,  and  the  savages  that 
ravaged  the  Coos  country,  rendered  it  perilous  and 
distressing.  But  now  no  one  can  set  a  higher 
value  on  the  smiles  of  peace  than  myself.  The 
savages  are  driven  beyond  the  lakes,  and  our 
country  has  no  enemies.  The  gloomy  wilderness, 
6f 


! 


lo5 


and  I 

y, that 
hich  I 
iv^  wait- 
world 
ployed 
narked 
ing  the 
health, 
;d  their 
morn 
in  I  too 
f  good 
eridian 
serable 
I  think 
id  ;  but 
ervent- 
;  Being, 
i  views 
)ur  for- 

the  cup 
^e  seen 
nsation. 
ar  since 
share  I 
place  in 
ttle,  yet 
yes  that 
lous  and 
,  higher 
f.  The 
and  our 
derness, 


that  fifty  years  ago  secreted  the  Indian  and  the 
beast  of  prey,  has  vanished  away,  and  the  thrifty 
farm  smiles  in  its  stead.  The  Sundays,  that  were 
then  employed  in  guaiding  a  fort,  are  now  quietly 
devoted  to  worship.  The  tomahawl'  and  scalping-* 
knife  have  given  place  to  the  ploughshare  and 
sickle,  and  prosperous  husbandry  now  thrives 
where  the  terrors  of  death  once  chilled  us  with 
fear*  .  - 

My  numefoiis  progeny  have  often  gathered 
iaround  me,  to  hear  the  sufferings  once  felt  by 
their  aunt  or  gradmother,  and  wonder  at  their 
magnitude. 

*  My  daughter  Captive  still  keeps  the  dress  she 
appeared  in  when  brought  to  my  bedside  by  the 
French  nursCj  at  the  Ticonderoga  hospital,  and 
often  refreshes  my  memory  with  past  scenes, 
when  showing  it  to  her  children.  These  things 
yield  a  kind  of  melancholy  pleasure. 
•Perhaps  the  reader's  patience  is  by  this  time 
(Exhausted,  and  I  shall  not  detain  him  much 
longer ;  but  I  cannot  dismiss  the  subject  without 
making  mention  of  some  occurrences  which  have 
taken  place  since  the  first  edition  of  my  narrative 
was  published.        ^       - 

In  the  year  1798,  my  daughter  Captive  and 
family  removed  to  the  province  of  Lower  Canada, 
which  was  no  small  grief  to  me.  For  the  space 
of  forty  years  and  upwards,  we  were  together  on 
the  anniversary  day  of  her  birth,  which  was  a 
great  consolation  to  me  in  my  declining  years. 
And  even  after  she  was  gone,  although  the  dis* 
tance  was  nearly  two  hundred  miles,  that  anni- 
versary day  never  passed  unthought  of  or  unno* 
ticed  by  me,  and  I  presume  it  never  did  by  her,  as 


,1  ; 

rtt. 


106 


she  has  often  informed  me  since  her  return.  The 
extraordinary  occurrences  of  God's  providence,  in 
preserving  our  lives  through  the  various  scenes 
which  we  passed  in  her  infancy  and  childhood, 
might  reasonably  be  supposed  to  attach  that  pa- 
rental and  dutiful  affection  to  each  other,  which 
could  only  be  extinguished  by  the  extinction  of 

life.  -■•-,-.  .:-;    -,  .■  ^ 

My  life,  in  many  other  respects,  has  been  a 
scene  of  trouble  and  misfortune,  since  I  published 
my  narrative  in  1796.  Some  time  in  October,  in 
1801, 1  had  been  on  a  visit  to  Mr.  Samuel  Tay- 
lor's, in  Rockingham  ;  on  my  return,  accompanied 
by  his  daughter,  at  the  south  end  of  the  street  in 
Charlestown,  our  horse  was  started  by  a  boy 
wheeling  a  load  of  flax,  which  threw  me  from  the 
horse.  The  violence  of  the  fall  was  so  great, 
together  with  a  wound  cut  deep  in  my  forehead, 
that  I  wjis  taken  up  for  dead,  or  apparently  sense- 
less, by  my  grandson,  Jason  Wetherbee,  and  car- 
ried to  the  house  of  Samuel  Stevens,  Esq.,  about 
thirty  rods.  Every  aid  and  assistance  possible 
was  made  for  me.  After  my  revival,  the  wounds 
were  dressed;  the  cut  was  sewed  up  by  Mrs. 
Page,  the  wife  of  Capt.  Peter  Page,  of  Charles- 
town.  In  a  short  time,  I  so  far  recovered  as  to 
be  removed  to  my  home,  which  was  nearly  one 
mile.  I  recovered  my  former  strength  as  soon  as 
might  be  expected,  considering  the  badness  of  the 
wound  and  bruises  which  I  received  by  the  fall. 

My  husband,  Mr.  John  Hastings,  with  my  con- 
sent and  agreement,  had,  prior  to  this  time,  given 
our  estate  to  Mr.  Stephen  Hasham,  who  married 
our  only  daughter ;  in  consequence  of  which,  my 
Ufe  and  living  were  so  immediately  under  his  con- 


1^:: 


.^' 


101 


The 

ice,  in 
icenes 
Ihood, 
at  pa- 
which 
ion  of 

been  a 
slished 
Der,  in 
I  Tay. 
panied 
reet  in 
a  boy 
om  the 
great, 
•ehead, 
sense- 
nd  car- 
,  about 
possible 
vounds 
y  Mrs. 
harles- 
as  to 
•ly  one 
oon  as 
of  the 
fall. 
y  con- 
,  given 
carried 
;h,  my 
lis  con- 


I 


troul,  that  my  situation  was  rendered  very  unhap- 
py. But  a  respect  for  the  feelings  of  the  surviving 
relatives  will  prevent  my  going  into  a  detail  of  my 
sufferings,  while  under  Mr.  Hasham's  roof — 
which,  considering  the  different  treatment  I  had  a 
right  to  expect,  under  the  care  and  protection  of 
a  son-in-law,  I  sometimes  found  almost  as  painful 
to  be  borne  as  my  ravage  captivity. 

In  the  spring  of  1803,  my  daughter  Captive 
came  from  Canada,  with  a  sick  daughter  of  hers, 
to  be  doctored,  as  physicians  were  at  a  great  dis- 
tance from  where  she  resided.  In  the  summer,  I 
made  known  to  her  my  unhappy  situation,  as  did 
my  husband  also.  She,  by  the  consent  of  my  hus- 
band, and  the  advice  of  some  respectable  friends, 
procured  a  home  for  me  at  Mr.  Jonathan  Baker's, 
whose  wife  was  daughter  to  my  daughter  Wether- 
bee,  where  I  resided  till  February  following,  when, 
with  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Kimball  and  his  brother , 
who  was  in  company  with  him  on  his  journey 
to  remove  his  wife  and  daughter  to  Canada,  I  was 
conveyed  to  Concord,  in  Vermont,  to  Mr.  Weth- 
erbee's,  my  son-in-law,  where  I  remained  about 
ten  months.  We  had  intelligence,  in  the  early 
part  of  November,  that  my  husband  was  very  sick  ; 
but  the  season  and  badness  of  the  roads  prevented 
my  immediate  return  to  see  him.     He  died  on  the 

21st  dayof  November,  1804,  in  the year  of 

his  age. 

In  the  January  following,  I  came  to  Charles- 
town,  when,  by  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Wetherbee 
and  others,  I  concluded  a  settlement  with  Mr. 
Hasham,  in  which  I  received  the  rents  of  certain 
pieces  of  land  yearly,  to  continue  during  my 
natural  life,  which  is  sufficient  to  support  me  com- 


•  ! 


IV\; 


108 


fortably,  and  I  can  expend  it  where  I  please.  I 
made  my  principal  residence  at  Mrs.  Rice's,  wha 
is  a  niece  of  mine,  and  sometimes  with  Mr.  Weth- 
erbee,  my  grandson,  and  visited  my  other  rela- 
tions, and  was  in  as  good  health  as  might  be 
expected  for  a  person  of  my  years. 

I  would  here  gladly  close  my  narrative,  but  I 
have  one  more  sad  event  to  detail.  In  March, 
1808,  Mr.  Kimball  and  family  returned  from  Can- 
ada, and  made  their  residence  in  Langdon,  ad- 
joining Charlestown,  to  which  place  I  removed  to 
reside  with  them,  where  I  enjoyed  myself  happily, 
with  my  daughter  Captive  and  her  family,  for 
about  eighteen  months — sometimes  making  visits 
among  my  many  relatives  and  acquaintances,  as 
it  was  convenient.  In  October,  1809,  for  to  make 
it  more  convenient  for  Mr.  Kimball  to  carry  on 
his  mechanical  business,  I  concluded  to  make  a 
short  visit  to  Charlestown,  to  spend  the  winter  at 
my  old  quarters,  with  Mrs.  Rice.  Accordingly, 
on  the  14th  of  October,  I  set  out  for  that  purpose, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Kimball  and  Mr.  John 
Sartwell,  in  whose  waggon  we  all  rode.  We  had 
not  proceeded  far  from  Mr.  Sartwell's  house, 
when,  descending  down  a  small  pitch  in  the  road, 
the  staple  drew  out  of  the  yoke,  and  let  the  spire 
drop,  and  the  waggon  pushing  upon  the  horses, 
and  striking  their  heels,  soon  set  them  out  upon 
the  run.  The  waggon,  by  some  means  or  other, 
immediately  upset,  and  came  completely  bottom 
up — so  suddenly,  also,  that  it  caught  all  three  of 
us  under  it.  In  the  situation,  we  were  dragged, 
as  nearly  as  could  be  ascertained  afterwards  by 
the  blood,  about  six  rods,  when,  by  some  cause 
or  other,   the  waggon  hoisted  so  as  to  let  us  out 


*  J' 


109 


from  under  it.  The  horses  soon  cleared  them- 
selves from  the  waggon,  and  run  about  a  half  a 
mile.  We  were  all,  as  must  be  expected,  very 
much  hurt.  Mr.  Sartwell  had  no  bones  broke, 
but  was  very  much  bruised,  so  that  he  was  con- 
fined for  some  time.  Mr.  Kimball  had  one  shoul- 
der dislocated,  and  two  fingers  taken  off  from  his 
lefl  hand,  besides  being  otherwise  bruised.  He 
can  now  use  only  his  thumb  and  little  finger  of 
his  left  hand,  the  finger  next  to  the  little  one  being 
stiff.  I  had  one  ancle  broken,  and  the  bone  very 
much  shattered,  besides  being  otherwise  bruised. 
I  was  carried  back  on  a  bier  to  my  son  Kimball's, 
where  we  both  lay  several  weeks,  and  endured 
much  excruciating  pain.  When  I  was  laid  on  the 
bier  to  be  carried  back,  it  brought  fresh  to  my 
mind  the  bier  that  the  Indians  made  for  me  after 
the  birth  of  my  daughter  Captive.  It  was  thought 
by  many,  and  I  was  even  apprehensive  myself, 
that  the  pain  I  endured,  together  with  my  age, 
would  have  proved  too  hard  for  me.  But,  by  the 
blessing  of  God,  my  life  is  still  preserved,  and  I 
am  once  more  restored  to  as  comfortable  a  mea- 
sure of  health  as  I  can  expect  with  my  years**  I 
am  now  in  the  winter  of  life,  and  feel  sensibly  the 
effects  of  old  age.  I  have  removed  back  to 
Charlestown,  as  also  my  daughter  Captive,  and 


i!:-'l 


*'Tis  with  satisfaction,  that  I  here  express  vay  unfeigned 
thanks  to  Dr.  Kitteridge  and  Dr.  Carpenter,  for  their  particular 
attention  to  me  during  my  confinement  j  also  to  the  Rev.  A, 
Kneeland,  for  his  prayers,  and  frequent  visits  during  the  same. 
It  also  gives  me  much  satisfaction  in  reflecting,  (although  my 
pains  were  almost  intolerable,)  that  my  daughter  Captive  was  able 
to  attend  me,  which  she  did  with  her  wonted  cheerAilness,  al- 
though many  times  I  was  fesuful  it  might  prove  too  hard  for  her 
health  and  constitution. 


.■''-■«W 


110 


her  family.  It  is  a  matter  of  great  consolation  to 
me,  that  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  spend  so  much 
of  my  time  with  her  in  my  latter  days.  I  have 
had  many  a  sorrowful  hour  on  her  account,  in  her 
infancy  and  childhood,  and  she  has  richly  repaid 
them  in  her  tender  affection  to  me  in  my  eve  of 
life. 

Instances  of  longevity  are  remarkable  in  my 
family.  My  aged  mother,  before  her  death,  could 
say  to  me,  arise,  daughter,  and  go  to  thy  daughter ; 
for  thy  daughter's  daughter  has  got  a  daughter ; 
a  command  which  few  mothers  can  make  and  be 
obeyed. 

And  now,  kind  reader,  after  sincerely  wishing 
that  your  days  may  be  as  happy  as  mine  have 
been  unfortunate,  I  bid  you  adieu. 

Charlestown,  September  10,  1810. 

Note.*— Mrs.  Johnson  died  in  November,  1310,  soon  after  the 
close  of  the  foregoing  narrative. 


■^y-'i 


.     *  ■ 

4'    te 


as 


Ill 


lation  to 
so  much 
I  have 
it,  in  her 
y  repaid 
Y  eve  of 

!  in  my 
h, could 
ughter ; 
ughter ; 
i  and  be 

wishing 
ne  have 


tt%^"U'  A       .    M  V    .!. 


t    •: 


n  afler  the 


■  (     ■-      r  -?'f-, 


^jpiFmsrisnSo 


»r: 


The  subject  of  the  foregoing  narrative  lived  but 
a  short  time  after  the  last  date.  She  was  very 
anxious  to  have  this  work  revised  and  republished 
before  her  death.  She  had  several  conversations 
with  me  on  the  subject,  while  she  lived  in  Langdon, 
and  wished  me  to  undertake  the  work,  and  get 
the  copy-right  secured  to  her  daughter  Captive, 
(Mrs.  Kimball,)  which  I  told  her  I  would  do,  if 
time  and  opportunity  would  permit.  But  the  sad 
accident  and  misfortune  she  met  with  soon  after, 
as  has  been  mentioned,  together  with  other  cir- 
cumstances, prevented  its  being  done  at  that  time. 
I  was  in  Charlestown,  Mass.,  at  the  time  of  her 
death,  and  on  my  return  home,  was  informed  by 
Col.  Kimball,  that  it  was  the  earnest  desire  of  the 
old  lady,  in  her  last  sickness,  that  I  should  attend 
her  funeral,  and  preach  a  sermon  on  the  occasion; 
which  sermon  she  wished  to  have  annexed  to  her 
narrative,  as  I  had  undertaken  to  revise  the  copy, 
and  had  not  completed  it.  My  being  absent  at 
the  time  of  her  death  prevented  the  compliance 
with  her  request.  But,  that  I  might  in  f$^Q 
measure  comply  with  her  wishes,  and  being^r- 
ticularly  solicited  by  Col.  Kimball,  whose  v^l]9|is 
the  daughter  Captive,  so  often  mentioned  inin^ 
narrative,  I  preached  a  sermon  on  their  account^' 
at  Langdon,  on  the  10th  of  February,  1811,  and 


Il'i 


have  annexed  the  substance  of  it  to  the  narrative^ 
by  way  of  appendix. 

A  sermon  is  also  added,  which  was  preached  by 
the  Rey.  Dan  Foster,  late  of  Charlestown,  at  the 
funeral  of  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  formerly  Mrs.  Willard, 
the  mother  of  Mrs.  Johnson,  alias  Mrs.  Hastings, 
the  subject  of  this  narrative. 

I  would  further  remark,  that  this  narrative  has 
been  considerably  enlarged,  from  papers  furnished 
me  by  Col.  Kimball,  together  with  what  I  had  pre- 
viously taken  from  Mrs.  Hastings'  own  mouth, 
and  also  the  circumstance  of  the  accident  which 
happened  at  Langdon,  which  I  was  knowing  to 
myself,  and  I  believe  the  whole  to  be  a  correct 
statement  of  facts. 

Abnbu  Kne&land. 

Langdon^  SepU  18,  1811, 


•,  ■-.  -^        >■    \    :  i 


*::,    -J 


H«     .- 


*». 


11$ 


«■  ^^ 


rrative* 

jhed  by 
at  the 
i^iUard, 
astings, 

ivc  has 
"Dished 
ad  pre- 
mouth, 
which 
dug  to 
correct 

AND. 


Occasioned  hy  the  Death  of  Mrs.  Hastings,  who 

died  Nov.  27th,  1810,  in  the  eighty- 

first  year  of  her  age,* 

<  But  if  a  man  live  many  years,  and  rejoice  in  them  all ;  yet  let 
him  remember  the  days  of  darkness,  for  they  are  many.'—- EccL. 
xi.  8. 

It  will  be  proper  just  to  premise,  that  the  occa- 
sion of  reading  these  words  at  this  time,  is  the 
late  death  of  the  aged  and  honorable  Mrs.  Has- 
tings, a  person  with  whom  many  of  you,  my 
hearers,  have  been  long  acquainted;  and  many 
more,  if  not  all,  have  been  made  familiar  with  the 
narrative  of  her  captivity  and  unparalleled  suffer- 
ings ;  and  your  feeling  sensibility  has  often  been 
excited  with  the  perusal  or  recital  of  those  trying 
scenes  through  which  she  was  called  to  pass,  in 
the  first  settlement  of  this  country. 

To  dilate,  therefore,  on  her  life  or  character, 
would  be  useless  at  this  time  (as  it  would  be  nothing 
new)  to  you  who  are  present,  and  if  this  discourse 
should  ever  be  more  extensively  known,  the  most 
essential  and  important  parts  of  her  life  will  go 
with  it.  And  as  she  has  bid  the  world  adieu,  and 
the  most  solemn  scene  of  her  funeral  is  already 
past,  it  will  not  so  much  be  expected  that  I  should 
enter  into  those  particulars  at  this  time.  Suffice 
it,  therefore,  to  say,  that,  having  lived  to  sf  ^ood 

*  She  breathed  out  her  last  expiring  moments,  till  life  was  ex- 
tinct, supported  in  the  arms  of  her  daughter  Captive,  for  whom 
she  ever  manifested  the  greatest  affection. 


II 


114 


old  age — having  experienced  many  of  the  various 
dispensations  of  the  providence  of  God — in  pros- 
perity and  in  adversity — in  joy  and  in  sorrow — 
she  has  at  last  resigned  her  worn-out  life,  with  a 
firm  hope  of  a  future  immortality. 

Happy,  indeed,  should  I  have  beeii,  to  have 
complied  with  her  wishes,  so  far  as  to  have  attended 
her  interment,  and  delivered  this  discourse  to  her 
surrounding  relations  and  friends,  who  attended 
on  the  solemn  occasion.  But  as  my  absence  at 
the  time  prevented  it,  we  shall  now  dispense  with 
any  addresses  that  might  then  have  been  thought 
proper,  and  shall  only  attend  to  a  doctrinal  disqui- 
sition of  the  text. 

*  But  if  a  man  live  many  years,  and  rejoice  in 
them  all ;  yet  let  him  remember  the  days  of  dark- 
ness, for  they  are  many.' 

The  mortality  of  man  is  such,  that  but  a  very 
few,  comparatively  speaking,  live  to  what  is  called 
old  age.  There  are  so  many  casualties  incident 
to  human  nature,  that  the  prospect  of  living  *  many 
years'  is  rendered  doubtful,  and  very  uncertain. 
By  an  attention  to  the  bills  of  mortality,  it  will  be 
seen  that  the  number  who  arrive  to  three  score 
years  and  ten  (what  is  called  the  common  age  of 
man)  is  but  very  small  in  comparison  with  the 
whole  that  are  born ;  and  although  some,  by  rea- 
son of  strength,  live  to  four  score  years  and  up- 
wards, yet  is  that  strength,  labor  and  sorrow ;  for 
it  is  soon  cut  off,  and  we  fly  away. 

Virtue  itself  does  not  shield  a  man  against  the 
natural  evils  incident  to  human  life.  And,  though 
some  may  seem  to  have  more  of  a  full  share  than 
others,  yet  no  one  ought  to  expect  wholly  to  avoid 
them. 


»  f^ 


various 
n  pros- 
rrow — 
with  a 

o  have 
tended 
to  her 
tended 
nee  at 
se  with 
hought 
disqui- 

oice  in 
•f  dark- 

a  very 
s  called 
neident 
'  *  many 
certain, 
will  be 
3  seore 
age  of 
ith  the 
by  rea- 
nd  iip- 
'w;  for 

nst  the 
though 
re  than 
o  avoid 


I 


lis 

We  are  not,  however,  to  estimate  a  man's  moral 
character  by  what  outwardly  befalls  him,  because 
time  and  chance  must  happen  to  all  men  ;  and,  if 
we  wish  to  learn  the  real  character  of  a  man,  we 
must  notice  with  what  patience,  with  what  forti- 
tude and  resignation,  he  endures  the  adverse 
scenes  of  life,  and  likewise  his  faithfulness  in  per- 
forming his  duty,  though  in  the  midst  of  peril  and 
danger. 

Passing  over  the  uncertainty  of  human  life, 
which  is  apparent  to  all,  I  shall  notice  but  two 
propositions  from  the  text,  and  show, 

I.  What  is  necessary  to  enable  a  man  to  rejoice 
in  all  his  days,  and 

II.  That  the  sorrows  and  afflictions  incident  to 
human  nature  are  not  incompatible  with  the  joys 
of  a  Christian. 

I.  What  is  necessary  to  enable  a  man  to  rejoice 
in  all  his  days  1 

1st,  In  order  to  pass  through  life  comfortably  and 
happy,  and  rejoice  in  all  the  dispensations  of  the 
providence  of  God,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should 
be  made  to  know  that  *all  things  work  together 
forgood,^  though  manifested  only  *to  them  that  love 
God — to  them  that  are  called  according  to  his  pur- 
pose'— that  the  knowledge,  the  wisdom,  the  power, 
and  even  the  love  or  goodness  of  God,  extends  to  all 
events,  even  to  the  most  minute  circumstances  in 
his  providential  dealings  with  the  children  of  men 
— that  no  event  can  take  place  without  his  divine 
permission,  and  that  what  he  permits,  all  circum- 
stances considered,  is  best  so  to  be — that  there  is 
no  calculating  upon  any  thing  in  this  lower  world 
as  being  certain  to  us,  but  death,  and  even  that, 
the  time  when  is  uncertain — that,  through  the 
5* 


I.  •! 


I' 


116 


weakness  of  our  understanding,  the  short-sighted- 
ness of  our  knowledge,  (every  thing  we  see  being 
temporal,)  although  the  order  of  things  is  unalter- 
ably fixed  in  the  eternal  mind,  yet  to  us  they  are 
mutable,  and  therefore  liable  to  change.  And,  if 
we  have  been  enabled  to  extend  our  thoughts  so 
far  as  to  discover  the  immutability  of  things  in 
God,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  know  that 
they  are  immutably  good;  for  how  can  a  rational 
being  rejoice  in  an  unalterable  evil  1  And,  fur> 
thermore,  it  increases  our  felicity,  to  know  that 
all  things  are  not  only  established  for  good,  but 
that  they  are  established  on  rational  principles — 
not  by  a  blind  chance,  not  simply  by  an  unavoid- 
able fate — for  even  good  conferred  upon  us,  upon 
such  principles,  would  not  excite  our  gratitude  to 
God,  any  more  than  a  prize-ticket,  drawn  to  us, 
would  excite  our  gratitude  to  the  managers  of  the 
lottery ;  but  the  good  which  we  receive  is  estab- 
lished by  God  himself,  as  being  the  fruits  of  infi- 
nite wisdom,  effected  by  unlimited  power^  and 
prompted  by  unbounded  love  or  goodness.  And, 
if  we  are  rationally  convinced  that  all  events  are 
wisely  determined,  it  does  not  militate  against  our 
pence  or  happiness,  to  suppose  that  the  providence 
of  God  respecting  them  is  immutably  and  unal- 
terably established.  For,  when  any  thing  is  once 
ordered  for  the  best,  it  cannot  be  altered  for  the 
better^  because  there  is  nothing  better  than  the 
best. 

That  the  foreknowledge  of  God  extends  to  all 
events,  and  that  he  overrules,  superintends,  and 
governs  all  events,  are  truths  that  will  not  be  dis- 
puted or  denied  by  any  who  believe  in  a  Supreme 
Being.     And,  if  we  acknowledge  that  God  governs 


in 


[^hted- 
beiiig 
alter- 
y  are 
nd,  if 
Its  so 
gs  in 
that 
tional 
1,  fur- 
7  that 
J,  but 
lies — 
avoid- 
npon 
de  to 
0  us, 
of  the 
estab- 
:  iiin- 
f  and 
And, 
ts  are 
St  our 
dence 
unal- 
I  once 
•r  the 
n  the 

to  all 
,  and 
e  dis- 
ireme 
verns 


all  events,  wc  must  acknowledge  that  he  governs 
them  all  for  the  best,  or  else  we  must  acknowledge 
that  he  governs  all  events,  but  not,  or  at  least  not 
a// of  them,  for  the  best;  which  idea  would  be 
blasphemously  absurd. 

The  Pharisees,  when  Christ  was  here  in  the 
flesh,  were  reminded  by  him  of  their  blasphemy, 
when,  because  they  could  not  deny  the  miracles 
which  he  wrought,  they  accused  him  of  having  an 
unclean  spirit,  and  that  he  cast  out  devils  through 
Beelzebub,  the  prince  of  the  devils.  And  the  idea 
that  God  does,  or  ever  will  punish  his  creatures, 
but  not  for  their  good,  is  equally  derogatory  of  his 
character.  Sucli  ideas  do  not  become  the  faithful 
child  of  God.  He  rejoices  that  God  overrules  and 
superintends  all  events,  and  that,  however  griev- 
ous they  may  be  to  be  borne',  they  are  wisely  cal- 
culated to  yield  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteous- 
ness to  them  that  are  exercised  thereby. 

This  is  the  Christian's  consolation.  Such  faith 
as  this  is  able  to  solace  the  deepest  affliction,  and 
give  patience  and  fortitude  to  the  mind.  It 
strengthens  the  understanding,  and  gives  vigilance 
to  the  animal  faculties,  so  as  to  enable  us  to  go 
through  any  pain,  peril,  or  danger,  when  pruden- 
tially  deemed  expedient,  tn  preserve  our  own  lives 
or  the  lives  of  others.  A  nrm  confidence  in  God 
is  therefore  absolutely  necessary,  to  enable  us  to 
rejoice,  or  even  calmly  to  acquiesce,  in  the  dispen- 
sations of  his  providence. 

2d,  A  constant  and  inflexible  adherence  to  the 
principles  of  virtue  is  also  absolutely  necessary,  to 
enable  us  to  rejoice  in  all  our  days. 

That  a  deviation  from  this  principle  should 
produce  guilt,  pain,  condemnation,  horror,  and 


J,.  * 


f1' 
■  i 


!♦<; 

k 


i. 


118 


remorse,  appears  to  be  one  of  the  unalterable  laws 
of  moral  nature.  In  vain  may  a  man  attempt  to 
assuage  his  guilt,  or  calm  his  conscience,  with  the 
idea  that  he  could  not  have  done  otherwise,  when  he 
intends  to  do,  or  in  fact  has  done,  that  which  his 
own  conscience  tells  him  is  wrong.  For  his  guilt, 
and  all  the  evil  consequences  that  follow,  are  as 
morally  certain  as  his  crime.  The  carnal  mind 
always  reasons,  if  he  attempts  to  reason  at  all, 
contrary  to  facts  and  our  daily  experience.  He 
would  willingly  adroit  the  moral  certainty  of  all 
events,  if  he  could  thereby  exculpate  himself  from 
blame.  And  of  course  the  carnal  mind  will  argue 
thus — that  he  was  under  the  faial  necessity  of 
doing  as  ho  did ;  hence,  the  blame,  if  any  there  be, 
cannot  be  in  the  creature.  Not  realizing  that 
guilt,  and  all  the  evil  consequences  of  sin,  are  as 
much  events  in  the  providence  of  God,  as  the 
crimes  that  produce  them — and  it  being  consistent 
with  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness  to  suffer, 
permit,  or  allow,  sin  to  exist  in  the  moral  system, 
certainly  it  cannot  be  inconsistent  with  the  same 
wisdom  and  goodness,  even  to  decree  that  guilt  and 
misery  should  be  its  direful  consequences.  For 
one,  I  am  so  fully  convinced  that  virtue  produces 
its  own  reward,  and  sin  carries  with  it  its  own 
punishment,  that  I  will  venture  to  give  it  as  a 
maxim,  which  I  believe  will  ever  hold  true,  that 
whatsoever  produces  no  guilt,  no  shame,  no 
remorse,  no  condemnation,  in  a  word,  no  evil 
consequences,  even  to  the  sinner  himself,  is  not 
sin.  It  may,  however,  be  stated  here,  by  way  of 
objection,  that  a  man  may  wrong  his  neighbor,  or 
friend,  without  producing  any  injury  to  himself, 
and  that  such  an  act  is  sin.     I  grant  that  it  is  sin 


elaws 
tnpt  to 
ith  the 
len  he 
ch  hid 
s  guilt, 
are  as 

mind 
at  all, 
J.     He 

of  all 
f  from 

argue 

sity  of 

lere  be, 

g  that 

are  as 

as  the 

isistent 

suffer, 

system, 

e  same 

iiilt  and 

s.     For 

roduces 

its  own 

it  as  a 

ue,  that 

ne,    no 

no  evil 

r,  is  not 

way  of 

ibor,  or 

iiimself, 

it  is  sin 


119 


for  any  one  man,  knowingly,  to  injure  another,  or 
to  give  unjust  or  unnecessary  pain,  etfti  to  an 
enemy;  but  1  deny  the  possibility  of  his  doing  it 
without  producing  the  greatest  injury  to  himself; 
and  such  a  proposition  ought  to  be  first  proved 
before  it  is  taken  for  granted.  One  tnan  may  be 
the  occasion  of  disturbing  the  peace  of  many  ;  but 
he  never  can,  by  his  own  act,  be  the  cause  of  the 
guilt  of  any  but  himself.  It  is  true  he  may,  by 
his  evil  example,  induce  others  to  commit  the 
same  crime,  and  thereby  become  equally  guilty ; 
but  they  are  not  guilty  till  they  follow  the  evil 
example.  And  my  hearers  will  be  capable  of 
judging  which  is  the  greatest  misery — sorrow  occa- 
sioned by  the  evil  conduct  of  others,  or  guilt  pro- 
duced by  our  own  crimes.  My  conscience  tells 
me  that  the  latter  is  the  most  to  be  dreaded. 

My  maxim  is  equally  good  on  the  side  of  virtue. 
That  which  produces  no  peace,  no  comfort,  no 
consolation,  in  a  word,  no  good  consequences, 
even  to  the  doer  of  the  deed,  is  not  virtue.  And 
furthermore,  whoever  bestows  a  favor  on  another, 
is  the  greatest  partaker  of  the  benefit,  because 
*  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.^  If  this 
sentiment  be  correct,  as  I  presume  it  is,  how 
blessed,  indeed,  must  be  our  heavenly  Father,  who 
is  the  giver  and  bestower  of  every  gobd  and 
perfect  gift,  both  spiritual  and  temporal  !  And 
how  miserable  indeed  must  be  the  condition  of 
that  man  who  is  entirely  destitute  of  a  principle 
of  benevolence  !  Whoever,  therefore,  would  see 
good  days,  and  rejoice  in  them  all,  must  adhere 
to  the  strictest  observance  of  virtue.  All  catward 
professions,  without  this  internal  principle,  are 
but  a  mere  name,  as  empty  in  its  sound  as  the 


<    ,^l« 


/"' 


^..^■| 


'f .  i 


'."f* 


4' 

u  '1 


'I 


■I   .' 


i   f 


120 


<  sounding  brass  or  the  tinkling  cymbal.'  He,  and 
he  only,  let  him  live  many  years  or  few,  that 
keepeth  a  conscience  void  of  offence  towards  God 
and  man,  may  be  truly  said  to  rejoice  in  all  his 
days. 

3d,  Hope^in  immortality  is  also  necessary,  to 
enable  a  man  to  rejoice  in  all  his  days.  ^ 

Short  of  this  hope,  the  best  prospects  in  life  are 
but  an  awful  uncertainty.  One  thought  of  death 
blasts  all  our  expectations  in  this  life,  as  it  respects 
ourselves,  and  a  gloomy,  dismal,  and  uncertain 
hereafter,  is  the  only  refuge  to  all  those  who  have 
not  a  well-grounded  hope  in  immortality. 

This  hope  is  obtained  only  by  a  firm  belief  in 
the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  In  him,  life  and 
immortality  are  brought  to  light  through  the 
gospel.  And  whoever  can  fully  believe,  (and 
whoever  feels  interested  enough  to  examine  the 
testimony  will  not  doubt  of  the  fact,)  that  God 
raised  up  Jesus  from  the  dead,  can,  from  the  same 
source  of  evidence,  easily  believe  that  the  same 
power  will  raise  up  us  also,  and  make  us  sit 
together  with  him,  in  heavenly  places.  *  For  if 
God  spared  not  his  own  Son,  but  delivered  him  up 
for  us  all,  how  shall  he  not  also  with  him  freelv 
give  us  all  things  V — '  who  hath  blessed  us  with  all 
spiritual  blessings,  according  as  he  hath  chosen 
us  in  him,  before  the  foundation  of  the  Avorld,  that 
we  should  be  holy  and  without  blame  before  him 
in  love.'  '  Whoever  hath  this  hope  in  him,  (i.  e., 
in  Christ,)  will  purify  himself  even  as  he  is  pure.' 
And  from  the  purity  of  his  life  and  conduct  he 
will  be  enabled  to  rejoice  in  all  his  days. 

When  we  can,  amidst  all  the  trials,  losses, 
crosses,  affliction,  and  disappointments,  incident 


't 


121 


e,  and 
that 
s  God 
all  his 

iry,  to 

fe  are 

death 

spects 

ertain 

)  have 

ief  in 
3  and 
h    the 
(and 
le  the 
:  God 
same 
same 
LIS   sit 
^or  if 
imup 
freely 
ith  all 
liosen 
I,  that 
5  him 
(i.  e., 
pure.' 
ct  he 

:)sses, 
ident 


to  human  life,  look,  by  an  eye  of  faith,  beyond  all 
death  and  time,  into  that  spiritual  world,  where 
sorrow  can  never  come,  and  there,  through  the 
testimony  of  the  mouth  of  God's  holy  prophets, 
behold  the  '  ransomed  of  the  Lord  returning,  and 
coming  to  him  with  songs  and  everlasting  joys 
upon  their  heads,  where  they  shall  obtain  joy  and 
gladness,  and  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away,' 
and,  through  the  fulness  of  the  gospel,  believe 
that  Christ  *  gave  himself  a  ransom  for  all,  to  be 
testified  in  due  time,'  will  view  all  such  afflictions 
but  momentary,  and  therefore  will  receive  them 
as  specimens  of  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  our 
heavenly  Father,  being  calculated  to  work  out  for 
us  '  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of 
glory.'  Hence  every  bitter  has  its  sweet — every 
sorr»  w  is  tempered  with  the  spirit  of  consolation ; 
and  we  have  every  reason  to  believe,  that,  as  our 
day  is,  so  will  our  strength  be,  and  that,  while  we 
are  destined  to  live  in  this  world,  God  will  lay  no 
more  upon  us  than  what  he  will  enable  us  to  bear. 
All  pain  must  be  either  tolerable  or  intolerable ;  if 
tolerable,  it  may  be  endured ;  but  if  intolerable,  it 
must  be  short ;  for  the  moment  that  pain  becomes 
intolerable,  it  destroys  all  sense,  and  therefore 
ceases  to  be  pain. 

Such  faith,  such  hope,  and  such  confidence  in 
God,  will  be  sufficient  to  bear  up  the  soul  under  all 
trials,  carry  it  through  all  difficulties,  giving  it  the 
final  victory  over  sin  and  death. 

4th,  As  all  mankind  have  sinned,  and  come 
short  of  the  glory  of  God,  in  order  for  us  to  get 
the  victory  over  the  sting  of  death,  which  is  sin,  it 
is  necessary  that  we  should  know  that  *  God  is  in 
Christ  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself,  not 
7t 


j>" ' 


JV' 
*: 


I? 


■  111 

'8- 


■.JM..1 


122 


imputing  unto  them  their  trespasses,  but  hath 
made  him  to  be  sin  (or  rather  a  sin-offering)  for 
us,  who  knew  no  sin,  that  we  might  be  made  the 
righteousness  of  God  in  him.'  And,  as  repent- 
ance and  remission  of  sins  are  necessary  to 
reconciliation,  God  hath  exalted  Jesus  to  be  'a 
Prince  and  a  Savior,  to  give  repentance  unto 
Israel,  and  remission  of  sins.'  And  is  he  the  God 
of  the  Jews  only  ?  Is  he  not  the  God  of  the 
Gentiles  also  ?  Yes,  of  the  Gentiles  also.  For 
God,  who  is  rich  in  mercy,  hath  •  concluded  them 
all  in  unbelief,  that  he  might  have  mercy  upon  all.' 
A  remission,  therefore,  of  all  orr  sins  that  are 
past,  and  a  salvation  from  sin  for  the  future,  is 
also  necessary,  to  enable  us  to  rejoice  in  all  our 
days.     This  brings  me  to  show,  ^^       .     ' 

II.  That  the  sorrows  and  afflictions  incident 
to  human  nature  are  not  incompatible  with  the 
joys  of  a  Christian.  <-i 

*  Although  affliction  cometh  not  forth  of  the 
dust,  neither  doth  trouble  spring  out  of  the  ground, 
yet  man  is  born  unto  trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly 
upward.'  And  although  some  are  called  to  pass 
through  much  greater  scenes  of  sorrow  and  afflic- 
tion than  others,  yet  there  are  none  wholly  ex- 
empt. In  this  respect,  'time  and  chance  happen 
unto  all  men.'  '  All  things  come  alike  to  all. 
There  is  one  event  to  the  righteous  and  to  the 
wicked ;  to  the  good,  and  to  the  clean,  and  to  the 
unclean ;  to  him  that  sacrificeth,  and  to  him  that 
sacrificeth  not.'  Virtue,  morality,  religion,  yea, 
even  piety  itself,  does  not  exempt  mankind  from 
any  natural  evil  to  which  we  are  subject.  Neither 
is  sin  certain  to  produce  any  of  those  misfortunes 
to  which  ^e  are  always  liable  by  the  providence 


). 


hatll 
ng)  for 
ide  the 
repent- 
ary  to 
)  be  'a 
e  unto 
he  God 
of  the 
For 
d  them 
)on  all.' 
lat  are 
ture, is 
all  our 

ncident 
ith  the 

of  the 
?round, 
irks  fly 
to  pass 
d  afflic- 
)lly  ex- 
happen 

to  all. 

to  the 
i  to  the 
m  that 
m,  yea, 
d  from 
^either 
ortunes 
^idence 


123 


of  God.  If,  therefore,  there  be  no  certain  and 
necessary  connexion  between  virtue  and  prosper* 
ity,  in  the  things  of  this  world,  and  sin  and  adver-* 
sity,  or  the  misfortunes  of  life,  then  there  is  noth<^ 
ing  that  necessarily  debars  us  from  partaking  of 
all  the  joys  of  a  Christian,  notwithstanding  our 
temporal  life  may  be  a  scene  of  sorrow  aud  afflic- 
tion. 

The  original  organization  and  constitution  of 
the  human  body  is  sufficient  to  convince  any 
rational  mind,  that  is  not  fettered  with  the  preju- 
diced of  a  false  education,  that  these  bodies  were 
never  designed  for  an  immortal  state ;  for  *  flesh 
and  blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God, 
neither  can  corruption  inherit  incorruption.'  Mor- 
tality is  instamped  upon  all  animated  nature ;  and 
man,  in  this  respect,  hath  no  pre-eminence  above 
a  beast.  '  For  that  which  befalleth  the  sons  of 
men  befalleth  beasts :  even  one  thing  befalleth 
them:  as  the  one  dieth,  so  dieth  the  other;  yea, 
they  have  all  one  breath.'*  Has  sin  affected  the 
brutal  creation,  and  produced  their  mortality  ?  or 
was  man  mortal,  and  subject  to  death  even  before 
sin  entered  the  moral  system  ?  It  is  true,  it  was 
not  revealed  unto  Adam,  that  he  was  dust,  and 
must  return  to  the  dust  again,  till  after  the  trans- 
gression ;  but  it  was  as  true  before  as  it  was  after- 
wards ;  for  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of  the  dust 
of  the  ground — gave  him  an  earthly  constitution, 
which  was  sensual,  corruptible,  yea,  mortal.  The 
evils  of  mortality,  therefore,  ought  not  to  be  im- 
puted to  sin.  I  am  willing  to  grant  that  the  mis- 
eries of  this  mortal  state  may  be  greatly  increased 

*  EccL.  iii.  10.  ■  '■ 


r't.i 


:v<'\ 


124 


by  sin.  But  what  I  would  wish  to  be  understood 
to  say,  is,  that  the  seeds  of  mortality  were  sown 
in  man  in  the  original  constitution  of  his  nature, 
and  that  he  was  ever,  after  being  formed  of  the 
dust,  subject  to  natural  death,  and  must  have 
experienced  the  natural  evils  attendant  on  this 
life,  such  as  pains,  sickness,  providential  misfor- 
tunes, and  even  natural  death,  if  man  had  never 
jsinned. 

Again.  It  is  said  of  Jesus,  that  *he  shall  save 
his  people  from  their  sins.'  And,  if  he  will  save 
them  from  their  sins,  it  is  most  rational  to  believe, 
that  by  so  doing  he  will  save  them  from  all  the 
consequences  of  sin.  But  Christ  has  never  yet 
saved,  and  we  have  no  reason  to  expect  that  he 
ever  will  save,  a  soul  from  natural  death. 

Christ  himself,  although  without  sin,  was  subject 
to  natural  death.  Death  reigned  from  Adam  to 
Moses,  even  on  those  who  had  not  shined  after  the 
similitude  of  Adam's  transgression.  And  death 
still  is,  and  ever  has  been,  the  common  lot  of  all 
animated  nature,-  Enoch  and  Elijah  excepted. 
And  I  should  consider  those  two  instances  as  early 
intimations  of  an  immortal  state,  rather  than  an 
evidence  that  man  originally  was  not  subject  to 
natural  death. 

Much  more  might  be  said,  to  establish  this  pro- 
position, if  it  were  necessary;  but  our  argument 
does  not  rest  wholly  on  this  particular  point ;  for, 
even  should  we  admit  that  natural,  as  well  as 
moral  death,  is  the  effect  of  sin,  yet,  when  we 
reflect  that  we  have  an  advocate  with  the  Father, 
even  Jesus  Christ  the  righteci's^  *who  gave  him- 
self a  propitiation  for  our  sins,  and  not  for  ours 
only,  but  for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world,'  we  can 


erstood 
e  sown 
nature, 
of  the 
it  have 
on  this 
misfor- 
i  never 

ill  save 
ill  save 
believe, 

all  the 
ver  yet 

that  he 

I  subject 
Ldam  to 
fter  the 
d  death 
of  all 
ccepted. 
as  early 
:han  an 
3Ject  to 

this  pro- 
'gum«nt 
nt;  for, 
well  as 
hen  we 
Father, 
ve  him- 
or  ours 
we  can 


125 


anticipate  the  time  when  all  the  consequences  of 
sin,  whether  natural  or  moral,  will  be  completely 
at  an  end,  and  death  swallowed  up  of  life. 

Such  a  remembrance  of  the  days  of  darkness  as 
this,  will  serve  to  sweeten  all  our  enjoyments,  and 
give  a  zest  to  every  real  pleasure.  We  should 
remember  the  evil  days  only  to  enhance  our  joys 
at  the  sight  of  deliverance,  to  brighten  our  hopes  - 
in  the  prospect  of  future  glory,  and  to  excite  our 
gratitude  for  the  unmerited  blessing.  And  such 
considerations  should  further  serve  to  give  us  for- 
titude of  mind  to  endure  providential  evils  with 
patience  and  resignation  while  they  continue. 

The  sentiments  inculcated  in  this  discourse  have 
been  completely  verified  in  the  thoroughly-tried 
life  and  unshaken  death  of  her  who  has  been  the 
occasion  of  it.  She  has  gone  down  to  the  dust  in 
a  good  old  age,  like  a  shock  of  corn,  fully  ripe, 
richly  laden  with  the  experience  of  the  goodness 
of  God.  Her  fortitude  has  been  remarkable ;  and 
to  this,  under  the  providence  of  God,  perhaps, 
may  be  imputed,  the  preservation  of  her  life 
through  scenes  the  most  unparalleled  of  which 
history  affords.  Where  one  would  have  survived, 
it  is  more  than  probable  that  hundreds  would  have 
suffered  death  under  more  favorable  circumstan- 
ces. 

Her  sufferings  have  been  so  great,  that  many 
who  have  read  her  narrative  have  believed  the 
whole  to  be  a  fiction — a  mere  idle  tale,  published 
to  amuse  the  credulous  part  of  community,  and 
get  their  money.  But  the  additional  circumstan- 
ces in  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  together  with  her 
death,  will  give  new  strength  to  the  evidence,  and 
make  her  narrative  still  more  interesting.     The 


r  h* 


>■ ' 


',5 


i\;'- 
'(*}' 


1 


J' 


:ii^ 


^^ 


126 


plain,  simple  facts  were  sufficiently  interesting, 
not  to  need  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  or  the 
eloquence  of  the  orator,  to  engage  the  attention  of 
every  feeling  heart. 

The  last  respects  to  her  remains  have  been  paid. 
She  has  paid  the  last  debt  of  nature,  which  we 
must  all  pay  sooner  or  later — an  affecting  stroke, 
to  be  sure,  to  her  surviving  children  and  friends, 
though  nothing  more  than  what  they  have  long 
had  reason  to  expect.  After  surviving  so  many 
trying  scenes,  from  all  of  which  she  had  recovered, 
she  calmly  resigned  her  life,  apparently  being 
worn  out  with  old  age.  You  have,  therefore,  my 
respected  friends,  no  serious  cause  to  mourn ;  but 
rather  may  you  rejoice,  that,  the  earthly  house  of 
her  tabernacle  being  dissolved,  you  have  every 
reason  to  believe  that  she  hath  a  building  of  God, 
an  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the 
heavens. 

She  is  gone  to  the  world  of  spirits,  and  thither 
must  we  all  follow  her  sooner  or  later.  *  For  the 
dust  must  return  to  the  earth  as  it  was,  but  the 
spirit  to  God  who  gave  it.'  May  we  all  so  live, 
and  so  conduct,  whilst  the  brittle  thread  of  life  is 
lengthened  out  unto  us,  and  also  may  we  possess 
that  faith,  hope,  and  confidence  in  our  God,  that, 
when  he  shall  call  us,  to  bid  adieu  to  the  things  of 
time  and  sense,  we  may  go  on  our  way  rejoicing — 
be  enabled  to  look  back  on  our  past  lives,  with 
the  pleasing  satisfaction,  that  we  kept  a  con- 
science void  of  offence  toward  God  and  toward 
Having   our   work   done,  and   well  done, 


man. 


which  was  alotted  us  here  to  do,  may  we  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  die — calmly  falling  asleep  in 
Jesus  Christ ;  may  we  close  our  eyes  in  peace  on 


127 


resting, 

or  the 

Mion  of 

n  paid, 
ich  we 
stroke, 
Wends, 
e  long 
many 
overed, 
r  being 
3re,  my 
rn;  but 
ouse  of 
b  every 
of  God, 
in  the 

thither 
For  the 
but  the 
so  live, 
'  life  is 
possess 
d,  that, 
lings  of 
icing — 
IS,  with 
a  con* 
toward 

done, 
B  have 
ieep  in 
ace  on 


all  sublunary  enjoyments — rest  in  hope,  till  we 
shall  arise  to  a  glorious  immortality — be  clothed 
upon  with  our  house  from  above,  and  be  received 
into  those  realms  of  celestial  glory^  where  no  sin 
nor  sorrow  shall  ever  enter ;  there  may  our  hearts 
be  tuned  upon  the  golden  lyre  of  God's  grace,  to 
join  with  seraphs  and  angels,  and  all  the  beatified 
spirits  of  the  ransomed  of  the  Lord,  which  shall 
compose  the  heavenly  hosts,  to  celebrate  the 
praises  of  him  who  is  worthy  to  receive  all  possi- 
ble glory,  honor,  and  power,  throughout  an  ever- 
beginning,  and  never-ending  eternity.  Which 
may  God  grant  to  be  the  happy  lot  and  portion  of 
all  the  ransomed  sons  and  daughters  of  Adam,  for 
the  sake  of  the  '  Mediator  between  God  and  men, 
the  man  Christ  Jesus,  who  gave  himself  a  ransom 
for  all,  to  be  testified  in  due  time,  to  whom,  with 
God,  the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  'who 
hath  blessed  us  with  spiritual  blessings,'  be  ascrib- 
ed all  honor  and  glory,  now,  henceforth,  and  for- 
ever more.     Amen. 

a 


\  ■ 


.,:f^-^     . 


il 


128 


THE  BURIAL  OF  A  MOTHER. 

Behold  the  sad  impending  stroke, 
Which  now  arrests  our  eves ; 

The  silken  bands  of  union  broke— 
A  tender  mother  dies ! 

She's  gone !  she's  gone  to  realms  above, 
Where  saints  and  ancels  meet. 

To  realize  her  Savior's  love, 
And  worship  at  his  feet. 

Her  pains  and  groans  are  now  all  o'er; 

She's  gone  to  God  on  high ; 
Her  wishful  eyes  shall  weep  no  more*— 

No  more  her  spirit  sigh. 

For  you  who  round  her  body  mourn, 

And  drop  the  flowing  tears. 
How  many  sorrows  she  hath  borne, 

In  all  her  lengthened  years ',  ^ 

Her  sorrows  now  are  at  an  end ;        ^ 

The  Lord  did  for  her  call. 
And  Jesus  is  her  onlv  friend, 

Her  life,  her  health,  her  ALL. 


*;■ 


139 


.    ' 


Delivered  at  the  Funeral  of  Mrs,  Whitcomb^  May 
7th,  1797.— By  Dan  Foster,  A.M. 

'  But  thanks  be  to  God,  who  ^iveth  us  the  victory,  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.' — 1  Cor.  xv.  57. 

Were  it  not  for  the  hope  of  eternal  life,  given 
us  in  Christ  Jesus,  the  departure  of  near  friends 
and  relatives,  and  the  thoughts  of  death,  would  be 
accompanied  with  sorrows  almost  insupportablCo 
To  be  as  though  we  never  had  been,  at  best,  is  but 
a  gloomy  thought ;  but  an  eternal  existence  in  sin 
and  misery,  is  a  thought  infinitely  more  intolera- 
ble. Any  thing  short,  then,  of  poss:  jssing  the  hope 
of  life  and  immortality,  promised  in  the  gospel, 
would  render  all  beyond  the  grave,  at  best,  but  a 
sad  and  awful  uncertainty.  And  although  the 
Christian  has  no  positive  demonstration,  as  it  is 
necessary,  whilst  he  tabernacles  in  the  flesh,  that 
he  should  walk  *by  faith,  and  not  by  sight,'  yet, 
relying  on  the  divine  testimony,  he  possesses  a 
hope  that  is  like  an  '  anchor  to  his  soul,  both  sure 
and  stedfast ;'  which  hope  entereth  into  that  within 
the  vail,  where  Jesus,  our  propitiation  and  fore- 
runner hath  entered  for  us.  This  hope  giveth  us 
the  victory,  and  enables  us  to  triumph  over  the 
fear  of  death.  I  shall  proceed,  on  this  occasion, 
in  the  following  order  : — 

I.  I  will  endeavor  to  state  the  connexion  of  the 
words  with  the  context,  ai)d  show  the  general  in- 
struction contained  in  the  chapter,  and, 


J 


130 


II.  Make  a  practical  use  of  the  meaning  of  the 
text. 

In  the  heginning  of  the  chapter,  the  apostle  re- 
fers to  the  pKspel  which  he  had  preached,  and 
speaks  of  its  nature  and  importance,  as  in  ver. 
1 — 4.  'Moreover,  brethren,  I  declare  unto  you 
the  gospel  which  I  preached  unto  you,  which  also 
ye  have  received,  and  wherein  ye  stand  ;  by  which 
also  ye  are  saved,  if  ye  keep  in  memory  what  I 
preached  unto  you,  unless  ye  have  believed  in 
vain.  For  I  delivered  unto  you,  first  of  all,  that 
which  I  also  received,  how  that  Christ  died  for 
our  sins,  according  to  the  scriptures,  and  that  he 
was  buried,  and  that  he  rose  again  the  third  day, 
according  to  the  scriptures.'  Hence  it  is  evident 
the  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  was 
contained  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  which 
Paul  preached.  Yea,  the  knowledge  of  salvation^ 
the  knowledge  of  God,  whom  to  know  is  life  eter- 
nal, comes  to  man  through  the  medium  of  the  gos- 
pel, which  is  '  good  tidings  of  great  joy  to  all 
people.' 

Some  of  the  most  important  articles  of  the  gos- 
pel, which  is  our  salvation,  are  these : — that 
'  Christ  died  for  our  sins  ;'  i.  e.,  to  procure  the  re- 
mission of  them,  to  propitiate  them,  and  reconcile 
us  to  God,  *  according  to  the  scriptures.'  As  the 
apostle  observes,  *  If  any  man  sin,  we  have  an  ad- 
vocate with  the  Father,  Jesus  Christ  the  righteous; 
and  he  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sins,  and  not 
for  ours  only,  but  also  for  the  sins  of  the  whole 
world.'  *  For  the  love  of  Christ  constraineth  us, 
because  we  thus  judge,  that  if  one  died  for  all,' 
then  were  all  dead  ;  and  he  died  for  all,  that  they 
who  live  should  not  live  unto  themselves,  but  unto 


..-■^ 


131 


of  the 

tie  re- 
el, and 
in  ver. 
to  you 
ch  also 
which 
hat  I 
ved  in 
1,  that 
ed  for 
hat  he 
i  dixy, 
vident 
id,  was 
which 
vation» 
fe  eter- 
i^ie  gos- 
to  all 

ic  gos- 
; — that 
the  re- 
concile 
Is  the 
an  ad- 
teous ; 
id  not 
whole 
3th  us, 
)r  all,' 
t  they 
t  unto 


him  that  died  for  them  and  rose  again.*  Isaiah 
gives  us  the  same  idea  of  the  design  of  the  death 
of  Christ :  see  chap.  liii.  ver.  5,  6.  '  But  he  was 
wounded  for  our  transgressions ;  he  was  bruised 
for  our  iniquities ;  the  chastisement  of  our  peace 
was  upon  him  ;  and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed. 
All  we,  like  sheep,  have  gone  astray ;  we  have 
turned  every  one  to  his  own  way  ;  and  the  Lord 
hath  laid  on  him  the  iniquity  of  us  all.* 

We  are  not  only  taught  by  the  scriptures,  that 
Christ  died  for  our  sins,  but  that  he  rose  again  for 
our  justification,  as  the  apostle  elsewhere  observes : 
— *  Who  was  delivered  for  our  offences,  and  rose 
again  for  our  justification  ;  therefore,  being  justi- 
fied by  faith,  we  have  peace  with  God,  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  by  whom  also  we  have 
access  by  faith  in  this  grace  wherein  we  stand, 
and  rejoice  in  hope  of  the  glory  of  God.'  In  conse- 
quence of  the  resurrection  of  Christ,  the  apostle, 
and  we,  and  all  believers,  are  justified  in  having^^ 
faith  in  him  as  a  divine  person,  the  Messias  fi 
whom  Moses  and  the  prophets  did  write — the  S^i- 
loh,  who  was  to  come  ;  the  Just  One,  to  whom  the 
gathering  of  the  people  shall  be ;  the  Lamb  of  fiod, 
who  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world  ;  the  0irist, 
who,  by  the  blood  of  his  cross,  shall  reconcile  all 
things  unto  himself;  the  Savior,  who  shall  save 
his  people  from  their  sins;  the  Mediator,  who 
gave  himself  a  ransom  for  all,  to  be  testified  in 
di»^  time.  The  apostle  speaks  of  the  resurrection 
o!  i^hrist,  as  a  matter  of  vast  importance,  and  as 
a  thing  of  sufficient  certainty.  See  the  impor-- 
tance  attached  to  the  resurrection  of  Christ  by  the 
apostle,  as  expressed  in  the  17th  verse  of  the  con- 


fl 


1^ 


•H* 


13-2 


text: — *  And  if  Christ  be  not  raised,  your  faith  is 
vain  ;  ye  are  yet  in  your  sins.' 

If  Christ  arose  not  from  the  dead,  we  have  no 
reason  to  confide  in  him  as  a  divine  person,  the 
Messias,  the  Mediator  with  God,  the  Captain  of 
our  salvation ;  and  we  have  no  reason  to  expect 
reconciliation  to  God  through  him  ;  yea,  we  can 
have  no  hope  in  the  resurrection  of  the  dead  ;  for 
the  apostle  expressly  says,  *  If  the  dead  rise  not, 
then  is  not  Christ  raised.'     And,  according  to  the 
apostle's  mode  of  reasoning,  (who  was  a  good  rea- 
soner,)  if  Christ  be  not  raised,  then  will  the  dead 
rise  not,   agreeably   to   the    18th  verse : — '  Then 
they  also  which  are  fallen  asleep  in  Christ  are 
perished.'     But  the  apostle  turns  his  hypothetical 
mode  of  reasoning  into  affirmative  and  positive 
assertions,  as  in  verse  20th,  and  on  : — *  But  now 
is  Christ  risen  from  the   dead,   and  become  the 
first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.     For  since  by  man 
came  death,  by  man  came  also  the  resurrection  of 
Vie  dead.     For  as  in  Adam  all  die,  even  so  in 
Oirist  shall  all  be  made  alive.     But  every  man  in 
hi^own  order :  Christ  the  first  fruits :  afterward 
they^that  are  Christ's  at  his  coming.    Then  cometh 
the  e^d,  when  he  shall  have  delivered  up  the  king- 
dom to  God,  even  the  Father ;  when  he  shall  have 
put  down  all  rule,  and  all   authority  and  power. 
Fdr  he  must  reign,  till  he  hath  put  all  enemies 
under   his  feet.     The  last  enemy  that  shall  be 
destroyed  is  death.'     Thus  we  may  see  the  im- 
portance attached  to  the  death  of  Christ. 

And  the  certainty  of  his  triumphing  over  death, 
and  reascending  to  his  native  heaven,  cannot  be 
reasonably  doubted,  when  we  consider  that  he 
was  actually  seen  alive,  after  his  crucifixion,  by 


P 
h 


133 


r  faith  18 

have  no 
son,  the 
ptain  of 
expect 
we  can 
ad;  for 
ise  not, 
g  to  the 
ood  rea- 
he  dead 
-'  Then 
rist  are 
>thetical 
positive 
But  now 
)me  the 
by  man 
action  of 
n  so  in 
tnan  in 
'terward 
Cometh 
le  king- 
all  have 
power. 
3nemies 
hall  be 
the  im- 

'  death, 
mot  be 
hat  he 
on,  by 


many  creditable  witnesses.  He  was  seen  of  Ce- 
phas, of  the  twelve,  and  afterwards  of  above  five 
hundred  at  once;  some  of  whom  were  fallen 
asleep,  but  many  remained  when  Paul  wrote  the 
above  testimony.  And  last  of  all  he  was  seen  of 
the  apostle,  who,  in  all  his  writings,  and  in  the 
whole  history  of  his  life,  appears  to  have  been  a 
man  of  good  abilities,  considerable  literature,  and 
of  a  sound,  strong  mind,  not  addicted  to  enthusi- 
astic flights,  but  in  all  his  reasoning  appealing  to 
incontestible  facts,  as  the  foundation  of  his  argu- 
ments, which  he  knew  were  incontrovertible,  and 
must  be  acknowledged  by  his  opponents. 

Another  important  article  of  the  gospel  of  our 
salvation,  is,  that  human  bodies  shall  rise  again. 
*  This  corruptible  shall  put  on   incorruption,  and 
this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality.'     *  For  we 
are  not  appointed  unto  wrath,  but  to  obtain  salva- 
tion.'    So  we  see  that  man  is  appointed  to  obtain 
salvation  through  Jesus  Christ.     See  verse   19th 
of  the  context  :^'  If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope 
in  Christ,  we  pre  of  all  men  the  most  miserable.' 
See  also  the  20th  verse,  and  on,  before  quoted. 
How  glorious  a  discovery  this  !     What  a  display 
of  gospel  grace  !     This  mortal  shall  put  on   im- 
mortality !     That  which  is  sown  in  weakness  shall 
be  raised  in  power !     That  which  is  sown  a  natu- 
ral body  shall   be  raised  a  spiritual   body  !     That 
which  is  sown  in  dishonor  shall  be  raised  in  glory  ! 
Another  most  important  article  of  the   gospel 
which  St.  Paul  preached,  is  this,  that  Jesus,  the 
Son  of  God,  the  Savior  of  the   world,   shall   sway 
the  mediatorial  sceptre,  till  all  the  enemies  of  the 
moral  administration  of  Jehovah  shall  be  subdued, 
and  brought  into  voluntary,  cheerful  subjection, 
8*     . 


r 
y* 


m 


134 


*For  he,'  that  is,  Christ,  'must  rei^n,  till  he  hath 
put  all  enemies  under  Iiis  feet.  The  last  enemy 
that  shall  be  destroyed  is  death.  For  he,'  that  is, 
God  supreme,  God  the  Father  of  all,  'hath  put 
all  things  under  his,'  that  is,  under  Christ,  the 
Son's,  *  feet.  But  when  he  saith.  All  thinjsjs  are 
put  under  him,  it  is  manifest  that  he,'  the  Father, 
*  is  excepted,  which  did  put  all  thins^s  under  him,' 
the  Son.  *  And  when  all  thin<ys  shall  be  subdued 
unto  him,'  the  Son,  '  then  shall  the  Son  also  him- 
self be  subject,'  made  like  unto  his  brethren,  *  unto 
HIM  that  put  all  things  under  him,  that  God  may 
be  all  in  all.' 

The  apostle  then  proceeds  to  state,  what  has 
been  before  noticed,  the  surprising  transformation 
of  human  bodies  at  the  resurrection.  See  verses 
42,  44.  *  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of  the  dead  ; 
it  is  sown  in  corruption,  it  is  raised  inincorruption  ; 
it  is  sown  in  dishonor,  it  is  raised  in  glory  ;  it  is 
sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power  ;  it  is  sown 
a  natural  body,  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body.' 

O  how  great,  how  glorious  will  this  change  be, 
of  our  poor,  frail,  mortal  bodies  ! 

The  apostle  next  proceeds  to  speak  of  the 
change  which  living  men  shall  experience,  when 
Christ  shall  come  again,  and  the  celestial  trumpet 
shall  raise  the  dead.  See  ver.  51 — 53  : — '  Behold, 
I  show  you  a  mystery.  We  shall  not  all  sleep, 
but  shall  all  be  changed,  in  a  moment,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trumpet ;  for  the 
trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised 
incorruptible,  and  toe  shall  be  changed.  For  this 
corruptible  must  put  on  incorruption,  and  this 
mortal  must  put  on  immortahty.'     This  will  be  a 


le  hath 
enemy 
that  is, 
ith  put 
St,  the 
^s  are 
^ather, 
r  him,' 
Lihdued 
o  him- 
•  *  unto 
d  may 

lat  has 
mation 
verses 
dead ; 
liption  ; 
^  ;  it  is 
is  sown 

r    ' 

nge  be, 

of  the 
,  when 
rum  pet 
Behold, 

sleep, 

in  the 
for  the 

raised 
or  this 
id  this 
11  be  a 


135 


great,  and  an  instantaneous  change  of  corruptible 
for  incorruption,  and  of  mortal  for  immortality,  of 
which  we  can  now  have  no  adequate  conception. 
When  this  great  and  mighty  change  shall  take 
place,  then  shall  be  the  destruction  of  temporal 
or  bodily  clay  :  see  ver.  54 : — '  So  when  this  cor- 
ruption shall  have  put  on  iii corruption,  then  shall 
be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written^ 
Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory.'  The  glorious 
truths  that  will  also  be  brought  to  pass,  in  connex- 
ion with  this  saying,  '  Death  is  swallowed  up  in 
victory,'  we  have  recorded  in  the  prophecy  of 
Isaiah,  chap.  xxv.  ver.  6 — 8  :  *  And  in  this  moun- 
tain, shall  the  Lord  of  hosts  make  unto  all  people 
a  feast  of  fat  things,  a  feast  of  wines  on  the  lees ; 
of  fat  things  full  of  marrow,  of  wines  on  the  lees 
well  refined.  And  he  will  destroy  in  this  moun- 
tain, the  face  of  the  covering  cast  over  all  people, 
and  the  vail  that  is  spread  over  all  nations.  He 
will  swallow  up  death  in  victory;  and  the  Lord 
God  will  wipe  away  tears  from  off  all  faces ;  and 
the  rebuke  of  his  people  shall  he  take  away  from 
off  all  the  earth  ;  for  the  Lord  hath  spoken  it.' 
So  we  see  that  this  glorious  feast,  that  shall  be 
made  unto  all  people ^  is  to  be  fulfilled,  according 
to  the  sense  of  the  apostle,  when  this  mortal  shall 
have  put  on  immortality,  and  this  corruptible  is 
V  clothed  with  incorruption.  In  confirmation  of  this 
glorious  truth,  the  revelator  hath  said — Rev.  xxi. 
3,  4 — *  Behold,  the  tabernacle  of  God  is  (or  shall 
be)  with  men,  and  he  will  dwell  with  them,  and 
ithey  shall  be  his  people,  and  God  himself  shall  be 
with  them,  and  be  their  God.  And  God  shall 
wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes ;  and  there 


f->i 


**\ 


'■'1 

y 


M 


it 


136 


I  , 


shall  be  no  more  deaths  neither  sorrow  nor  crying^ 
neither  shall  there ^be  any  more  pain;  for  the 
former  things  are  passed  a\Vay.' 

The  apostle  then  tells  us  what  creates  the 
terrors  of  a  dying  scene,  even  sin  against  the  laws 
of  God.  See  ver.  56 : — *  The  sting  of  death  is  sin  ;  • 
and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law.'  Then  follow 
the  words  of  the  text : — *  But  thanks  be  to  God, 
which  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.' 

II.  As  a  practical  improvement  of  the  text,  we 
may  consider,  1st,  What  death  is,  with  some  of 
its  accidents  and  consequences.  2d,  How  Christ 
hath  mitigated  its  terrors,  and  given  us  the  victory 
over  it — and  take  notice  of  our  obligations  to  him 
for  so  inestimable  a  favor. 

1st,  Death,  as  it  respects  only  our  body,  is  the 
extinction  of  our  mere  animal  life,  which  is 
common  to  man,  beasts,  birds,  creeping  things, 
and  all  animated  nature,  and  is  generally  attended 
with  great  and  exquisite  pain  and  distress.  This 
is  evident,  (except  when  the  cause  is  too  sudden 
to  be  felt,)  from  apparent  circumstances,  and 
also,  as  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose,  upon  so  great 
an  effect  as  will  cause  all  the  vital  powers,  and 
every  coarser  and  finer  nerve  of  the  human  frame, 
to  cease  to  operate. 

Our  bodies,  at  death,  are  left  with  our  friends, 
to  be  interred  in  the  cold  and  silent  earth,  and  to 
crumble  and  moulder  back  to  their  primordinal 
dust.  *  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  as 
it  was  ;  and  the  spirit  shall  return  unto  God  who 
gave  it.'  ! 

At  death,  we  close  our  eyes  on  all  this  transitory 


it 


r  the 

the 
B  laws 
s  sin ; 
bllow 
God, 
Lord 

xt,  we 
me  of 
Christ 
victory 
to  him 

,  is  the 
lich  is 
things, 
ttended 
This 
sudden 
^s,  and 
0  great 
rs,  and 
frame, 

friends, 
and  to 
ordinal 
arth  as 
)d  who 

nsitory 


137 


world,  and  the  changing  scenes  of  things.  We 
bid  adieu,  for  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time,  as  God 
shall  please,  to  kindred,  friends,  and  neighbors — 
to  all  the  joys,  all  the  sorrows,  and  all  the  trifles 
of  time  and  sense. 

Death  transmits  our  souls  into  the  presence  of 
our  Maker,  and  into  a  new  and  unexperienced 
scene  of  things,  of  which  we  can  now  form  but 
very  imperfect  ideas. 

But  as  we  are  moral  and  accountable  beings,  so 
it  is  the  scriptural  idea,  that  death  is  succeeded  by 
our  actual  appearance  in  the  more  immediate  and 
sensible  presence  of  God  and  the  Lamb,  of  whom 
we  shall  receive  such  sentence  and  appointment 
as  will  be  consistent  for  a  Being  of  infinite  good- 
ness, justice,  mercy,  love,  and  truth,  to  give. 

Of  the  process  of  this  personal  interview  and 
examination  before  God  and  the  Lamb,  which 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world,  we  are  greatly 
unacquainted ;  though,  as  a  certain  consequence 
of  death,  we  have  the  utmost  reason  to  expect  it. 
Here,  *  we  know  in  part  and  we  prophesy  in 
part ;  but,  when  that  which  is  perfect  is  come, 
then  that  which  is  in  part  shall  be  done  away.' 
*  Therefore,  judge  nothing  before  the  time,  until 
the  Lord  come,  who  both  will  bring  to  light  the 
hidden  things  of  darkness,  and  will  make  manifest 
the  counsels  of  the  heart;  and  then  shall  every 
man  have  praise  of  God,'  1  Cor.  xiii.  9,  10. — 
iv.  5. 

After  this  important  interview  with  our  Maker, 
we  shall  enter  into  that  society,  and  upon  the 
employments  and  enjoyments — or  into  that  state 
of  suffering  and  punishment  inseparably  connected 


1  -fj 


:4 


138 


I'    ir 


I     ^ 


with  sin,*  to  which  we  shall  be  destined  by  infinite 
wisdom  and  goodness. 

2d,  How  Christ  hath  mitigated  the  terrors  af 
death,  and  given  us  the  victory  over  it,  with  our 
obligations  to  him  for  so  inestimable  a  favor. 

After  the  apostle  had  plainly  to.M  us  what 
created  the  terrors  of  death,  even  sin,  and  what 
gave  sin  its  terrific  efficacy,  even  the  law  of  God, 
he  devoutly  thanks  God  that  he  hath  given  Chris- 
tians the  victory  over  death,  i.  e.,  had  removed 
its  terrors,  and  unclothed  it  of  its  dreadful  appear- 
ance and  frightful  garb,  &.c.,  through  Jesus  Christ. 

Hence,  by  the  help  of  our  context,  we  may 
discover  what  Christ  hath  done  to  free  us  from 
the  dread  and  terror  of  a  dying  hour. 

1st,  *He  hath  died  for  our  sins.' 

Though  we  are  sinners,  we  are  sure  of  pardon, 
peace,  aud  reconciliation  with  God,  through  the 
merits  of  the  Savior ;  for  Christ  came  not  to 
continue  us  in  our  sins,  but  to  save  us  from  our 
sins.  *  For  he  shall  save  his  people  from  their 
sins.'  Reason  dictates  that  this  reflection  must 
greatly  mitigate  the  terror  of  death,  and  administer 

*  The  reader  will  here  notice,  that  Mr.  Foster  held  to  the 
doctrine  of  future  punishment,  though  he  believed  in  the  final 
restoration  of  all  rational  intelligences  to  holiness  snd  happiness. 
These  are  his  words : — '  1  frankly  declare  to  you,  that  1  feel 
myself  disposed  to  extend  the  divinely-benevolent  design  of 
gospel  grace  and  mercy,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  include  all  the 
children  of  Adam.  Nor  can  I  possibly  understand  any  definitions 
of  the  divine  attributes,  or  interpretations  of  the  declarations  of 
the  gospel  itself,  upon  any  other  supposition  of  the  extent  of 
gospel  grace  and  mercy.  For  this  theory  of  the  divine  attributes 
and  moral  government,  and  extent  of  gospel  grace  and  mercy, 
I  am  willing  to  write,  to  preach,  and  to  converse,  so  long  as  I 
live,  and  shall  be  able  to  use  my  pen  and  tongue.'  See  Foster's 
Examination,  page  289.         « 


he 


139 


liinite 

ors  af 
1  our 

what 

what 

God, 

hris- 

loved 

pear- 

iirist. 

may 

from 


rdon, 
h  the 
ot  to 
I  our 
their 
must 
lister 

to  the 
e  final 
iness. 
I  feel 
f?n  of 
.11  the 
itions 
)ns  of 
nt  of 
butes 
lercy,    - 
?aa  I 
Bter's 


unspeakable  comfort  and  consolation  to  the  dying 
Christian. 

2d,  We  have  hope  through  Christ  of  a  resurrec- 
tion and  a  future  life. 

*  If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ,  we 
are  of  all  men  the  most  miserable.*  But  glory  to 
God  for  his  rich  and  sovereign  grace,  we  are  not 
left  to  temporary  hopes  from  Christ.  '  For  as  in 
Adam  all  die,  even  so  in  Christ  shall  all  be  made 
alive.'  The  effects  of  divine  grace  shall  be  as 
extensive  as  those  of  Adam's  sin.  '  For,  where 
sin  hath  abounded,  grace  doth  much  more  abound.' 

When  the  dying  Christian  reflects,  that  what 
he  now  sows  in  corruption  shall  be  raised  in 
incorruption — what  he  sows  in  dishonor  shall  be 
raised  in  glory — what  he  sows  in  weakness  shall 
be  raised  in  power — what  he  sows  a  natural  body 
shall  be  raised  a  spiritual  body — with  what  divine 
consolation  and  glorious  hope  may  he  lay  his  body 
down  to  sleep  in  the  dust,  till  God  shall  call  it  to 
celestial  life! 

Immortality,  which  was  but  conjectural  by  the 
wisest  pagan  philosophers,  is  clearly  preached  by 
the  gospel,  and  demonstrated  by  the  resurrection 
of  Christ. 

What  returns  of  grateful  praise  and  sincere 
obedience  are  due  to  God,  who  hath  given  us  the 
victory  over  death,  by  the  clear  and  certain  hope 
of  a  blessed  immortality  through  Jesus  Christ ! 

3d,  All  needful  and  divine  assistance  and  sup- 
port, in  a  dying  hour,  may  the  Christian  hope  for, 
through  Jesus  Christ. 

Our  flesh  is  so  weak,  our  natural  faculties  so 
frail  and  feeble,  that  after  all  the  glorious  hopes  of 
peace  and  pardon  through  the  blood  of  the  ever- 
8t 


I 


140 


lasting  covenant,  and  of  a  resurrection  to  life  and 
immortality,  when  death  shall  approach,  we  shall 
need  the  rod  and  staff  of  God  for  our  support. 
This  also  we  may  hope  for,  since  God  hath  assured 
us  that  he  will  never  leave  us  nor  forsake  us. 

IMPROVEMENT  BY  USUAL  ADDRESSES. 


I.  To  the  children,  and  other  surviving  relatives 
of  the  deceased  : —  • 

You,  my  respected  friends,  are  now  called  to 
attend  the  interment  of  the  last  remains  of  a  kind 
and  tender  parent,  whose  presence,  comfort,  and 
assistance,  you  have  long  enjoyed. 

This  is,  on  many  accounts,  an  affecting,  solemn 
scene.  She  was  an  head  of  one  of  the  earliest 
families  who  first  settled  this  town.  Though  she 
never  was  captivated,  nor  received  any  personal 
injury  from  the  savages,  yet  she  endured  many 
hardships  and  severe  sufferings,  on  account  of  the 
injuries  done  to  her  connexions  and  friends,  by 
the  natives.  A  kind  and  indulgent  husband, 
father  of  the  children  present,  was  presented  to 
her  a  ghastly  corpse,  a  victim  of  savage  barbarity  ! 
O,  the  heart-aching  pangs  your  mother  then 
endured  !  She  also  suffered  on  account  of  the 
captivity  of  three  of  her  children — of  two  of  them 
for  the  long  and  painful  term  of  three  years  and 
a  few  months.  But,  through  the  goodness  of  God, 
they  were  all  returned  to  her  joyful  and  grateful 
embraces  again,  and  two  of  them  are  now  alive, 
and  attending  on  this  solemn  occasion. 

She  was  born  April  24th,  1710,  and  died  May 
6th,  1797,  having  just  entered  her  88th  year. 

A  numerous  posterity  hath  descended  from  her, 


141 


jfe  and 

|e  shall 

ipport. 

Issured 


IS. 


Natives 

lied  to 
a  kind 
't,  and 

solemn 
arliest 
gh  she 
rsonal 
I  many 
t  of  the 
nds,  by 
isband, 
nted  to 
barity ! 
r  then 
of  the 
f  them 
rs  and 
f  God, 
rateful 
'  alive, 

d  May 

r. 

m  her, 


and,  by  her  blood  or  affinity,  she '  was  connected 
with  a  great  part  of  the  families  in  this  town. 
She  left,  at  her  death,  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  lineal  descendants. 

And  permit  me  to  add,  that,  as  your  dear 
departed  mother  was  an  early  settler  in  this  town, 
she  must  have  gone  through  a  variety  of  trouble- 
some scenes — experienced  much  of  the  goodness 
of  God,  and  many  adverse  providences.  She  hath 
been  a  kind,  indulgent  parent,  an  obliging  neigh- 
bor, a  faithful  friend,  specially  kind  and  useful 
in  times  of  sickness  and  distress,  particularly  in 
the  infant  days  of  this  settlement. 

I  am  averse  to  the  general  practice  of  giving 
characters  in  funeral  avocations,  or  of  being  very 
positive  of  the  immediate  happy  state  of  departed 
friends.  But  we  have  reason  to  hope,  that  the 
goodness  and  mercy  of  God,  in  Christ  Jesus,  will 
admit  to  eternal  rest  and  peace,  a  friend  who 
hath  seen  and  enjoyed,  done  and  suffered,  so  much 
as  your  departed  mother  hath. 

You  will  do  well  to  attend  to  her  good  advices, 
and  follow  her  good  examples.  Love  God,  and 
Christ,  and  religion.  Remember  that  nothing 
but  real  religion  can  give  you  substantial  comfort 
when  you  come  to  die. 

Remember  that  Christ  hath  conquered  death, 
and  disarmed  him  of  his  terrors ;  so  that  all  those 
who  believe  in,  and  obey  him,  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  that  source. 

Look  now,  my  respected  friends,  into  the  grave  ; 
it  is  the  house  appointed  for  you — for  us  all.  Im- 
prove this  providence  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  let 
it  awaken  your  attention  to  the  things  of  eternal 
peace, 


Ml 


iii 


II 


142 


Be  patient,  submissive,  resigned  to  God,  and 
learn  obedience  by  the  things  you  suffer.  May 
God  be  present  with,  assist  and  bless  you,  my 
dear  friends,  and  sanctify  this  providence  to  you, 
for  your  eternal  good. 

2d,  A  few  words  to  the  whole  congregation  will 
close  the  subject. 

You,  my  respected  audience,  are  called  to 
attend  to  the  funeral  solemnities  of  an  aged  neigh- 
bor, acquaintance,  and  friend — one  of  the  first 
inhabitants  of  this  town — who  saw  it  in  its  infan- 
cy— in  its  maturer  years,  and  in  its  present  state. 

Many  of  you,  my  aged  fathers  and  mothers,  are 
far  advanced  in  life,  and  must  quickly  follow  this 
aged  mother  in  Israel,  whose  remains  we  this  day 
inter.  Many  reflections  will  no  doubt  enter  your 
minds  on  this  occasion,  but  none  can  be  more 
solemn,  or  more  important,  than  this,  that  you 
must  quickly  die.  Reflect  that  it  is  God's  design, 
in  this  providence,  to  admonish,  and  do  you  good. 
It  is  a  call  to  you : — *  Be  ye  also  ready.' 

Remember,  my  fellow-travellers,  bound  with 
me  to  a  vast  eternity,  and  improve  the  gladsome 
idea,  that  God  hath  given  us  the  victory  over 
death,  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  to  whom  be 
glory  for  ever.     Amen. 


/ 


14a 


and 
May 

u,  my 

>  you, 

>n  will 

ed    to 

neigh- 

B  first 

infan- 

state. 

rs,  are 

w  this 

is  day 

your 

more 

It  you 

lesign, 

I  good. 

I  with 
dsome 
r  over 
iom  be 


NAMES    OF  PERSONS  KILLED  IN  CHARLESTOWN,  NO.  4, 
AND  TIME  WHEN BY  THE  INDIANS. 

Seth  Putnam,  May  2,  1748. — Samuel  Farns- 
worth,  Joseph  Allen,  Peter  Perin,  Aaron  Lyon, 
Joseph  Massey,  May  24,  1746. — Jedediah  Winchel 

June  or  July,  1746.     Phips,  August  3, 1746. 

— Isaac  Goodale,  Nathaniel  Gould,  October, 
1747. — Obadiah  Sartwell,  June,  1749. — Lieut. 
Moses  Willard,  June  18, 1756. — Asahel  Shebbins, 
August,  1748. — Josiah  Kellogg,  1759. 


NUMBER  TAKEN  PRISONERS  BY  THE  INDIANS,  FROM 
CHARLESTOWN,  NO.  4. 

Capt.  John  Spafford,  Isaac   Parker,   Stephen 

Farns worth,   April    19,    1746.     Anderson, 

October,  1747. — Enos  Stevens,  June  17,  1749. — 
James  Johnson,  Susanna  Johnson,  Sylvanus  John- 
son, Susan  Johnson,  Polly  Johnson,  Miriam  Wil- 
lard, Peter  Labarree,  Ebenezer  Farnsworth, 
August  29,  1754. — Sampson  Colefax,  David 
Farnsworth,  Thomas  Robins,  Asa  Spafford,  May, 
1756. — Mrs.  Robins,  Isaac  Parker,  David  Hill, 
August,  1758. — Joseph  Willard,  wife  and  five 
children,  June  7,  1760. 


)  I 

I 


'  I 


144 


LETTER  FROM  COL.  LYDIUS  TO  MRS.  JOHNSON. 


Albany,  May  5,  1755. 
'  Mrs.  Johnson  : — I  received  yours  of  the  6th 
April,  with  one  for  your  husband ;  it  seems  you 
are  concerned  whether  or  no  he  got  safe  here  ;  it 
seems,  also,  by  yours,  that  you  mention  to  have 
received  a  letter  from  me,  and  none  from  your 
husband.  When  he  left  Albany  to  go  to  New 
England,  he  left  me  a  letter  for  you,  to  be  for- 
warded the  first  opportunity,  which  I  did  with  that 
you  received  from  me.  I  have  expected  your 
husband  this  three  months  past,  to  come  and  fetch 
you  and  your  family.  Since  he  left  Albany,  I 
never  received  a  line  from  him,  and  the  occasion 
of  the  delay  I  cannot  conceive,  without  it  is  the 
difficulty  to  procure  silver  money.  Keep  good 
heart ;  I  hope  you  will  soon  see  your  husband,  is 
the  wish  from  your  humble  servant, 

John  W.  Lydius. 


FROM  COL.  CUYLER  TO  MR.  JAMES  JOHNSON. 

Albany,  June  17,  1755. 
Sir:— I  have  received  yours  of  the  7th  and  8th 
instant,  and  have  noted  the  contents.  I  really 
do  not  understand  what  you  write  me  for  in  the 
first  place  ;  you  say  that  my  bills  were  not  ac- 
cepted— at  the  same  time  I  find,  by  your  draught 
on  me,  that  you  have  received  on  my  account 
'  2300  livres,  from  Mr.  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  I  now 
send  to  him  438  dollars,  for  the  payment  of  your 
draught.  I  a*r»  sorry  that  Mr.  Rine  de  Cauogne 
has  not  accepted  of  my  bills^  for  several  reasons. 


145 


)0N. 

L755. 

he  6th 

ns  you 

ere ;  it 

;o  have 

in  your 

o  New 

be  for- 

i^ith  that 

jd  your 

nd  fetch 

bany,  I 

>ccasion 

t  is  the 

pp  good 

}band,  is 

YDIUS. 


SON. 

1755. 

and  8th 
I  really 

or  in  the 
not  ac- 
draught 
account 
I  now 
of  your 

Cauogne 
reasons. 


1  have  now  desired  La  Come  St.  Luc  to  let  you 
have  700  livres,  besides  the  2300  which  you  have 
already  received.  I  am,  sir,  your  humble  ser- 
vant, 

Cornelius  Cuyler. 


•* 


from    MR.    JOHNSON    TO    MISS    MIRIAM    WILLARD. 

Quebec,  April  16,  1756. 
Loving  Sister  : — After  our  love  to  you,  these 
are  to  inform  you,  that  we  are  all  well  at  present, 
as  1  hope  these  will  find  you  and  our  little  daugh- 
ter, and  all  other  friends  at  Montreal.  1  have 
written  to  you  once  before  now,  and  we  have  had 
no  answer,  so  that  we  do  not  know  what  your  cir- 
cumstances are,  only  that  the  general  was  so  good 
as  to  let  us  know  that  you  and  Susanna  were  well. 
I  would  have  you  go  to  the  general,  and  beg  the 
favor  to  come  down  here  to  live  with  us ;  for  I 
have  written  to  the  general,  and  begged  the  same 
favor.  I  would  have  you  spare  no  pains,  for,  if 
you  meet  with  any  misfortunes,  it  will  contribute 
very  much  to  your  parents'  sorrow,  as  well  as  to 
ours.  So  I  would  not  have  you  discouraged,  or 
harbor  any  thoughts  of  staying  in  this  country ; 
for  I  do  not  doubt  but  we  shall  go  home  this  sum- 
mer ;  for  I  have  desired  the  general  to  send  home 
those  of  us  that  are  paid  for,  and  will  stay  in  the 
country  till  there  is  a  change  of  prisoners.  And 
if  you  cannot  come  down,  beg  leave  of  the  general 
to  let  you  write  to  us  ;  let  us  know  what  your  cir- 
eumstances  are.  Give  my  services  to  Mr.  Du 
9 


146 


Quesne  and  madam,  and  to  Susanna's  mothers. 
We  remain  your  loving  brother  and  sister, 

James  and  Susanna  Johnson. 


FROM   MISS    MIRIAM    WILLARD    TO    MR.   JOHNSON- 

Written  at  Montreal^  July  or  August,  1756, 

Loving  Brother  and  Sister  : — Having  receiv- 
ed yours  of  the  5th  July,  it  being  the  second,  tliougb 
you  have  sent  four,  wherein  you  give  me  to  under- 
stand that  my  sister  is  not  well,  and  that  yoit 
would  have  me  come  down — for  which  I  have 
asked  the  liberty  of  the  general ;  he  does  not  see 
fit  to  let  me  com«,  unless  I  would  go  to  prison, 
and  I  think  I  am  better  off  here  than  that  comes 
to  ;  therefore  I  take  this  opportunity  to  inform  you 
of  my  health  at  this  time,  and  of  Susanna,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  prisoners  here,  (and  my  love  is 
folded  up  in  their  lives,)  with  our  friends  that  we 
were  taken  with,  to  you  and  to  all  friends  there. 
Susanna  has  had  the  smallpox,  and  is  prodigiously 
marked.  I  would  not  have  you  be  concerned 
about  my  staying  here,  for  the  longer  I  stay  the 
more  anxious  desires  I  have  to  go  home. 

Miriam  Willard. 

P.  S.  I  hear,  by  Mr.  Josiah  Foster,  of  Winches- 
ter, who  was  taken  on  the  7th  of  June,  with  his 
family,  that  our  friends  at  No.  4  were  all  well, 
and  our  brother  James  was  returning  from  the 
eastward. — No  more  at  present.  I  shall  subscribe 
myself,  in  haste,  your  loving  sister,         M.  W. 


147 


J80N, 


INSON^ 


receiv- 
thougfe 
>  under- 
lat  you 
I  have 
not  see 
prison, 
t  conies 
^rm  you 
ancf  all 
love  is 
that  we 
3  there, 
igiously 
acerned 
itay  the 

iARD. 

inches- 
ith  his 
II  well, 
)m  the 
bscribe 
.  W. 


FROM    MR.    jrOSIAII    FOSTER,    TO   MR.   JOHNSON. 

Montreal,  May  16,  1757. 
Sir  : — After  my  respects  to  you,  your  wife  and 
sister,  hoping  you  are  in  health,  as  we  are  at  pres- 
ent, blessed  be  God  for  it.  The  5th  day  of  this 
present  month,  the  Mowhawks  brought  in  prison- 
ers from  No.  4,  Mr.  David  Farnsworth,  Sampson 
Colefax,  Deacon  Adams,  Asa  Spafford,  and 
George  Robins,  which  gives  us  the  sorrowful 
news  of  the  death  of  your  father  Willard,  who  was 
killed  by  the  Indians  last  summer,  a  little  way 
from  the  fort.  Your  brother  Moses  was  stabbed 
in  the  thigh  w^ith  a  spear.  This  is  all  the  mischief 
that  has  been  done,  except  the  Indians  burnt  the 
mills.  Mr.  Labarree  has  made  his  escape  from 
Montreal,  and  has  gone  for  the  English  fort.  I 
should  be  glad  to  write  you  a  fuller  account  of 
things,  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  write.  I  should 
be  glad  you  would  write  to  me,  to  let  me  know 
how  you  are.     So  I  remain  your  friend, 

JOSIAH   FOSTER- 


FROM   MRS.    BISSON,    TO    MRS.    JOHNSON,    AFTER 

HER   RETURN. 

Quebec,  Sept.  15,  1757. 
Madam  : — It  is  with  all  possible  pleasure,  I  do 
myself  the  pleasure  to  write,  and  to  let  you  know 
the  dulness  I  feel  since  your  departure.  One 
would  not  imagine  it,  considering  the  little  time  I 
had  the  happiness  to  be  acquainted  with  you.  I 
wish  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  convince  you  of  the 
truth  of  it,  but  the  distance  hinders  us ;  you  will 


148 


know  from  your  husband,  how  I  have  done  all  I 
could,  to  see  he  had  done  for  him  all  the  little 
services  in  my  power.  I  pray  you  would  salute 
Miss  Miriam  in  my  name,  and  tell  her  1  wish  her 
a  pretty  little  husband  at  her  return,  worthy  her 
merit.  Embrace  also  your  two  little  misses ;  my 
daughter,  Mary  Ann,  assures  you  of  her  respects, 
and  salutes  kindly  Miss  Miriam  and  the  two  little 
misses.  I  beg  you  to  enquire  after  my  son,  who 
I  believe  is  taken,  because  he  is  so  long  before  he 
comes  !,ome.  His  name  is  James  Bisson,  son  of 
James  Bisson  and  Hubelle  Badeau.  I  pray  you 
again,  that  in  case  you  find  him,  to  do  him  what 
service  you  can,  and  to  take  care  of  him.  I  shall 
be  everlastingly  obliged  to  you  for  it.  1  conclude 
by  assuring  you,  that  I  shall  all  my  life  be,  madam, 
one  of  your  greatest  friends,  and  your  humble 
servant,  The  Widow  Bisson. 

Our  neighbor.  Miss  Mary  Ann  Deforme,  assures 
you  of  her  respects,  and  salutes  Miss  Miriam  and 
the  two  little  misses.  Miss  Sinette  and  Tenesa 
Voyer  assure  you  of  their  respects,  and  also  Miss 
Mary  Ann  and  the  two  misses.  Adieu,  Madam 
Johnson.  I  wish  you  health  and  much  joy  upon 
Mr.  Johnson's  return,  who  is  to  depart  from  hence 
immediately. 


PASSPORT BY   GEN.   MONCHTON. 


Halifax,  Oct.  19,  1757. 
The  bearer,  Mr.  James  Johnson,  is  at  liberty  to 
tLke  his  passage  on  board  any  vessel  bound  to  the 
continent.  Robert  Monchton. 


le  all  I 

le  little 
salute 

isli  her 
thy  her 
es;  my 
espects, 
^vo  little 
on,  who 
efore  he 
son  of 
ray  you 
im  what 
I  shall 
ionclude 
madam, 

humble 

ISSON. 

,  assures 
iam  and 

Tenesa 
ilso  Miss 

Madam 
oy  upon 
m  hence 


1757. 

liberty  to 
indtothe 

:3HT0N. 


-i 


149 


FROM   MR.   JOHNSON   TO   MRS.   JOHNSON. 

Fort  Edward,  June  22, 1758. 
My  Dear  : — This  day  I  have  had  the  sorrowful 
news  of  the  loss  of  my  dear  child.  May  God 
sanctify  this  and  all  other  of  his  afflictive  dispensa- 
tions to  us.  I  am  in  good  health  at  present,  blessed 
be  God  for  it,  hoping  this  will  find  you  and  the 
rest  of  my  dear  children  in  like  mannei*.  We  are 
to  march  to-morrow  to  the  lake.  I  have  nothing 
remarkable  to  tell  you.  I  am  in  haste,  so  I  re- 
xnain  your  most  loving  husband, 

James  Johnson. 


CAPTAIN  Johnson's  commission. 

Province  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay, 

Thomas  Pownall,  Esq.,  Captain  General  and 
Governor  in  Chief,  in  and  over  his  Ma- 
jesty's Province  of  the  Massachusetts 
i.  8.  Bay,  in  New  Enofland,  and  Vice  Admiral 
of  the  same,  &c.,  to  James  Johnson, 
Esq.,  Greeting  :~^ 

By  Virtue  of  the  Power  and  Authority  in  and 
by  His  Majesty's  Royal  Commission  to  me  granted 
to  be  Captain  General,  &c.,  over  this  His  Majes- 
ty's Province  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay  aforesaid, 
I  do  by  these  Presents  (reposing  especial  Trust 
and  Confidence  in  your  Loyalty,  Couraj^re  and 
good  Conduct)  Constitute  and  Appoint  You  the 
said  James  Johnson  to  be  Captain  of  a  Company 
in  the  Battallion  of  Light  Infantry  to  be  formed 


150 


out  of  the  Forces  now  raised  by  me  for  a  general 
Invasion  of  Canada^  commanded  by  Col.  Oliver 
Partridge. 

You   are   therfore   carfully   and   diligently  to 
discharge  the  Duty  of  a  Captain  in  leading,  order- 
ing and  exercising  said  company  in  Arms,  both 
inferior  Officers  and  Soldiers,  and  to  keep  them 
in  good  Order  and  Discipline,  and  they  are  hereby 
commanded  to  obey  you  as  their  Captain ;  and 
you  are  yourself  to  observe  and  follow  such  Orders 
and  Instructions,  as  you  shall  from  time  to  time 
receive   from   the   General   and   Commander  in 
Chief  of  His  Majesty's  Forces  in  North  America, 
your  Colonel  or  any  other  your  superior  Officer 
according  to  the  Rules  and  Discipline  of  War  in 
pursuance  of  the  Trust  hereby  reposed  in  You. 
Given  under  my  Hand  and  Seal  at  Arms  at 
Boston^   the  thirtieth  Day  of  March,   in  the 
thirty-first  Year  of  the  Reign  of  His  Majesty 
King  George  the  Second,  Anno  Domini ^  1758.. 

T.  POWNALL. 

By  His  Excellency's  Command. 

A.  Oliver,  Secretary,. 


THE    END. 


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Oliver 

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rALL. 


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